Your Spaniel Heart
by TheShakespeareCode
Summary: "When you love someone…" he began carefully. "Their…their flaws only highlight their perfections…make them seem even more perfect than they already were." Based on Alan Bennett's play "The History Boys". I have tried to stay true to the characters, but I utilise much artistic license. Rated T for strong language and sex references from the beginning. Hope you enjoy xxx
1. Chapter 1

**Hello. I hope you enjoy my latest attempt at fanfiction. I've been away from the site for about a year, but now I'm back with a new account, and I've really enjoyed writing this-I love "The History Boys" so much! I hope you enjoy reading it. Review if you like, and I'll update as regularly as I can. Thank you. Much love xxx**

**I do not own _The History Boys_, or any of the plays, songs or books here mentioned! xD**

"So," Hector leaned back in his wooden chair, hands folded neatly over his chest. His eyes swept over the eight youths sat before him before dramatically glancing up at the small metal tin residing on a shelf above his head. "What joyous revels have you lovingly honed for me, _mes petits garçons _?"

"Oh, oh, oh!" Timms waved a chubby hand in the air in a pantomime of mock-earnestness. "We've got something for you, sir. There's no way you'll get it," he said, with a cunning glint in his eye. He beckoned to James Lockwood, who was rolling his eyes and swearing under his breath, clearly not so earnest to perform.

"That remains to be seen, you arrogant little tart," Hector sighed indulgently, waving one regal hand. "Let's have it, then. Chop chop,"

Timms sprang to his feet and marched confidently to the front of the classroom, followed reluctantly by Lockwood. They stood before the remaining six boys, who displayed varying degrees of interest. Akthar remained buried in a copy of Plato's _Republic_, while Crowther and Rudge watched intently, grinning in anticipation of Timms' upcoming showcase, which was sure to be comedic. Donald Scripps politely smiled, one eye on Lockwood-but the other on his friend David Posner, who's large, appealing eyes were fixed straight forward, mousy head leaning on his pale little hand, which was supported by his sharp elbow on the desk. Before Posner slouched the carelessly handsome Stuart Dakin, who gazed unfocusedly out of the window. Scripps shook his head, giving a small sigh-poor old Poz, staring wretchedly at the back of Dakin's shiny head of dark hair as if it were the Creation itself, the first sunrise. Scripps recalled the detailed account Dakin had subjected him to that morning; a crude, boastful story of his latest efforts to get into Fiona's pants. He grimaced. Love Dakin as he did, he could be one complacent fuck.

Never in Posner's rosy eyes, though. With a pang of pity, Scripps made to jab his friend in the back and offer some whispered word of comfort, but Lockwood had assumed his rehearsed position, peering concernedly at Timms, who had assumed his character, leaning on the piano, one hand clutching his heart.

"_I might not be alive in ten years_!" he declared in a falsetto voice, fluttering his eyelashes. In the back row, Rudge and Crowther snorted.

"_Yes, but you will be. You'll have children_," Lockwood reassured him, a hand on his shoulder, his voice of an equal pitch. But Timms pushed him away, his other hand flying melodramatically to his forehead.

"_I can't think about ten years_!" he exclaimed, wailing like a woman. Hector smiled, head tilted to one side, while Crowther chuckled.

"_You haven't got the speeds anyway_," Lockwood consulted an invisible newspaper. "_So I'll send you to these two, shall I? You haven't been to any other agency? Just so we don't get crossed wires. Now Jeanine I want you to get one of these jobs, alright_?" He showed the swooning Timms a "job advert" sternly. "_If I send you, that means I'm putting myself on the line for you. Your presentation's OK, you look fine, just be confident and go in there convinced that this is the best job for you and you're the best person for the job. If you don't believe it, they won't believe it_."

Timms looked up at Lockwood, eyes wide. "_Do you believe it_?" he almost begged.

Lockwood regarded him kindly. "_I think you could make me believe it if you put your mind to it_,"

Sniffing, Timms gave a small smile. "_Yes, all right_." He squeezed Lockwood's hand-then burst into boyish laughter as Hector and the other boys began to applaud. He took a theatrical bow, smirking triumphantly at Hector, while Lockwood, glad the farce had ended, looked longingly back at his chair. "Clueless, sir?"

The old teacher sunk further into his chair, looking excessively satisfied. "Do you children think I have gotten slow in my old age?" he pretended to accuse the performers. "Did you think I would not instantly recognise Caryl Churchill's _Top Girls_?" Timms cried out in dismay, as the rest of the class erupted. Hector chortled.

"We thought it was obscure!" Timms protested. "We thought-"

Hector sighed, eyes fixated upon the ceiling. "Dear lord, send me some boys to teach who are not ignorant little trollops! Now be seated, my children," He reached over and whacked the griping Timms lightly with a book, and then Lockwood for good measure as they made their way back to their desks, before addressing the class "Our revered headmaster, in his omniscience, asks that I evoke a discussion regarding one of the many issues that plague you troubled youths. However, I believe that you are in no need of further education concerning excessive alcohol consumption or, worse still, clear instructions on how to become riddled with sexually transmitted diseases," Some of the boys smirked. "Pray you fill this next half hour with some useful endeavour, and then we shall have music to end," Opening his leather-bound weapon, he settled, a contented smile still in place, and began to read.

The bulk of the class busied themselves with textbooks, paper and Biros, intending to devote this snatched thirty minutes to revision. Dakin, however, yawned and stretched widely, before slumping down upon his desk and closing his eyes. Scripps tutted, grinning whilst grappling in his bag for a battered copy of Elton's _England Under The Tudors._ He wondered at how happily Dakin could discard his sleep and, by extension, his education for a shot with the lovely Fiona.

"_Poz_?" he hissed to the smaller boy. "_Poz_?"

Posner reluctantly tore his gaze from Dakin to face him. In his eyes lingered the mists of sadness they always held, especially when in the company of Stuart. Scripps' heart ached for his poor, hopelessly devoted friend, as it often did-and at the same time, he felt a pang of frustration at him, which he repressed in his benevolence. Posner's soft, Pre-Raphaelite features had arranged themselves to show he was listening.

"You still down with doing the one we practised?" he asked, deciding to grill him later, when not in earshot of their peers. Certainly not in the presence of Hector; though Donald would be sincerely amazed if their receptive teacher had not noticed, considering his obsession with poetry regarding unrequited love, that one of his pupils was openly, embarrassingly, head-over-heels in love with another.

Posner blinked for a moment-then understood. "Y-yes, that would be…fine." He glanced at the sheet music just visible in Scripps' bag, eyes still hazy, and not at all eager.

"We could always do a different one," Scripps said tactfully. "I have _Get Happy _in my folder, I think. You like that one," he encouraged him, as if appeasing one of his little sisters.

"No," Posner said, resigned. "I think it would be…therapeutic…to sing the first one,"

"Alright," Scripps offered him a final, friendly smile, before opening his thick, tattered book and beginning to read.

* * *

"Come, Maestro, let us bask in the subtle delight of your _piano_ and the full glory of your _forte_," Hector finally gestured for Scripps to come to the old piano that stood in the corner, with a smile. Hearing Posner stand up near him, he made his way to the stool, setting up the manuscript paper on the familiar wooden stand. He glanced up at his singer, who had stood as usual just behind the corner of the piano, half obscured.

"Okay?"

Posner nodded, pink, cat-like tongue moistening his dry lips. He glanced at Dakin, who had sat up a fraction straighter to hear the music. Posner's Adam's apple rose and fell in his throat.

"So what shall you regale us with today, Messrs Scripps and Posner?" Hector had removed his glasses and replaced his book, leaning back and relaxing. "Will it be Jazz, or Folk, or perhaps Musical Theatre -or God forbid it, this so-called _Grunge_?"

Scripps snickered, along with most of the other boys. "Folk, sir. It's quite a pretty piece,"

"Performed today by a pretty duet," Hector offered Scripps the smallest of winks. "Well, in your own time,"

Trying to brush off the latest and possibly creepiest of Hector's comments, Posner clasped the top of the piano and Scripps positioned his deft fingers on the cold keys, ready to play the opening bars. He counted in with his foot, and then played the short, melancholy introduction before Posner began, a little uncertainly, to sing, his innocent, trembling tenor filling the classroom:

"_She's like the swallow that flies so high_

_She's like the river that never runs dry_

_She's like the sunshine on the lee shore_

_I love my love and love is no more_,"

Looking up to check on Posner, Scripps noted as always how his eyes were glazed over as he sang meaningfully, lost in the music-but also thrust into the spotlight in the presence of Dakin. Donald could see why he had been reluctant to sing a song about doomed love.

"'_Tis out in the garden this fair maid did go_

_A-picking the beautiful primrose_

_The more she plucked, the more she pulled_

_Until she got her apron full_,"

Scripps chanced a backward glance around the remaining assembled boys; Rudge half-listened, eyes cast down, while Crowther and Lockwood swayed slightly to the haunting melody. Timms was smirking, as he always did at Posner's sincerity when he sang, but Akthar looked serious as he listened. Dakin leaned lazily backward, frowning slightly. He ran one hand through that thick, shiny hair, which Scripps guessed was the reason for Posner's increased feeling as they entered the third verse, grasping the side of the piano.

"'_Twas out of those roses she made a bed_

_A stony pillow for her head_

_She laid her down, no words she spoke_

_Until this fair maid's heart did break…"_

Scripps did not need to look up to know that Posner would be singing this to Dakin, wondering if David himself was even aware that he was. He sighed quietly, imagining David dying willingly in silent tears, heart shattered by the careless Stuart…before quickly expelling that image from his mind. He shook his head, wondering why he thought such weird thoughts sometimes. He persevered with the intricate piano accompaniment, knowing that Timms would now not be the only one smirking at poor Posner.

"_She's like the swallow that flies so high_

_She's like the river that never runs dry_

_She's like the sunshine on the lee shore_

_I love my love and love is no more…_"

Posner's final note lingered in the air, finally resonating as Scripps softly intoned the last chord. Hector began the hearty applause, his eyes slightly clouded. "_Most heavenly music! It nips me unto listening, and thick slumber hangs upon mine eyes_…" He allowed himself a quiet moment of contemplation, rubbing his eyes, before charting the classroom for the answer to the question he did not need to ask.

"_Pericles_, sir," Akthar stated loudly, as the bell began to ring, signalling the end of the day.

"Well done, Akthar. And _very_ well done to Posner and Scripps," The musicians smiled at their teacher, who continued: "A beautiful arrangement that is, of a most compelling song. The piano part does not stand merely as an accompaniment to the vocal line; it is a melody in itself, making the song not a solo for a voice, but a duet between singer and pianist. It would have almost been more fitting for young Posner to sit and Scripps to stand up and be seen!"

Posner was slightly put-out as they gathered their books along with the rest of the boys. "Why doesn't he like me?" he murmured to Scripps in the rumpus.

"Come on, Poz, he doesn't _not like_ you…" Scripps began comfortingly. "You're just too-"

"Now, who goes home?" Hector addressed the class as a whole. Each pupil suddenly became far more interested in the contents of their bags.

"Crowther?" Hector tried.

"Can't, sir," Crowther answered, with a smirk. "Got rehearsals,"

"Lockwood?"

"Can't, sir. Going into town,"

"Ah, Dakin," Hector's eyes fixed determinedly on the handsome boy. "You will come, won't you?"

Dakin rolled his eyes, his back to Hector. "Okay, sir," he sighed. "Why not,"

"Excellent, excellent," Hector smiled earnestly. "I shall see you on the forecourt in ten minutes," As the teacher exited the classroom, the other boys shot a grateful look at Dakin, who's pleasure at the sudden attention outweighed the distaste for his lift home.

"You are all indebted to me," he said, with a look of mock-horror. "I'm horny as fuck-might get a hard-on because of the vibration, and Hector will cry with joy," There was scattered swearing and laughter as Dakin headed for the door. "Bye, losers."

Scripps glanced at Posner-who predictably stared breathlessly after him.

* * *

"You know, you shouldn't stare so at Dakin," Scripps said delicately as he and Posner left the iron school gates amid the throngs of teenage boys in uniform. "He'll get sick of it eventually,"

Posner shrugged, eyes downcast. "And?"

"He might…say something. To you," Scripps prompted. "That you…wouldn't like…"

"At least then he'd talk to me first," Posner sniffed, with the air of a martyr.

Scripps sighed. "I just don't want you to get hurt, mate."

"Oh, Scrippsy…" Posner moaned, eyes misting over again. "He hurts me simply by being close. And by not being close. I don't know which pain is the more bearable…"

Coughing awkwardly, Scripps tried to formulate a constructive response, before giving up. "Still don't know what you bloody see in him," he said, gruffly, trying to lighten the mood. He thought of the way Dakin boasted about his exploits with Fiona. "I mean, I love him and all, but he is a _massive_ twat,"

"That's just the issue. _I love him_,"

The boys at school jokingly declared their undying love for one another regularly; indeed, Timms had proposed to Crowther with a Haribo ring just that lunch time. But the way Posner said it, which such reverence, sincerity, devotion…Scripps almost believed him. He nodded understandingly.

"When you love someone…" he began carefully. "Their…their flaws only highlight their perfections…make them seem even more perfect than they already were."

Posner paused, looking up at Scripps with spaniel eyes. "You're right,"

"I know…" Scripps unlocked his bicycle and mounting it. "I'm always right, O Small One," he said, fixing his grin back in place. "See you, Poz,"

"Thank you. For everything,"

Scripps looked down at his friend. So pure, so hopeless, so completely beside himself, his wholesome eyes shining with innocence. He thought of David's sweet red heart beneath his school shirt, barely held together by thin threads, thumping with love for Stuart Dakin.

"Take care, mate," Scripps rode away quickly, leaving Posner alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again. Thank you so much for reading my fic. I hope you enjoy Chapter Two! Hope you are all well and happy xxx**

Scripps received the standard ladle of lukewarm baked beans atop his rock-hard baked potato with thanks, to which the hirsute woman behind the counter merely grunted. The canteen, as usual, resembled an animalistic mosh-pit in which pre and post pubescent boys congregated for their midday ration of what was prison food in both appearance and taste. After paying for his lunch, Scripps manoeuvred his tray with dexterity-although the red sea of adolescence tended to part for the older pupils-until he finally reached the rectangular bench in the corner which was occupied by five of his peers. At the head of the table sat Timms, who commandeered the conversation, having captured the full attention of Rudge. The latter boy had balanced a precarious open can of Coke atop a stack of loaned videos from the school library; a selection of Carry On films. Crowther was seated in a hunched position on Timms' left, staring intently at what appeared to be a tattered play script, while Dakin slouched beside him, his feet propped up on the adjoining chair as he consumed the last of his potato. Opposite Dakin sat Posner, straight as an arrow on the edge of the cold metal chair. As Scripps dumped his tray down beside him, he noticed that Posner's tray of food was untouched, baked beans congealing unappealingly on his unbroken potato.

"…it's just the worst," Timms was saying as Scripps took his seat. "The absolute worst thing, in my opinion, that any human being can do,"

"What?" Scripps was curious and wary; it was most unlike Timms to be involved in a serious conversation outside of the classroom.

"Bestiality." Timms answered disdainfully, shaking his head while contemplating the remains of his grated cheese.

Scripps rolled his eyes fondly-he had been expecting something like this. He jabbed his plastic fork into the solid vegetable and finally assembled a mouthful while listening, amused.

"You know what the worst thing about it is?" Timms continued. "It's that the dog or whatever has no way of giving its consent. I mean, you could almost see how it would be more acceptable if the dog was down with it, right? But it can't even give a yes or no…" he finished sadly.

"You don't get talking dogs," Rudge agreed wisely.

"I mean, if you had a pet who could say yes to sex-"

"Isn't that just called a wife?" Dakin interrupted suddenly.

There was a short silence-then Timms and Rudge roared with laughter. Dakin grinned knowingly as Scripps, disgusted by the fact that the corners of his own mouth were twitching, slapped his hands to the sides of his face.

"You," he accused, pointing his fork at Dakin. "are a despicable human being."

"But fucking funny," Timms spluttered, still chortling.

"Ooooooh, I'm sorry, _Pope Scripps_," Dakin drawled, raising one thick, dark eyebrow as Rudge wiped his eyes. "Didn't realise you were in favour of women bishops."

"If you continue comparing wives to pets, you are unlikely to ever get one to agree to marry you. And not just because you're fuck ugly," Scripps gave Dakin a sick grin.

"Fuck off, Popey. And come on!" Dakin sat up straight. "Anyone would have me. Are you going to eat that?" he suddenly shot at Posner, who jumped a mile.

"No," he managed to say, wide eyes falling to the untouched tray which he appeared to have forgotten about.

"Give it here then," Dakin took Posner's plate without waiting for an answer and dug in. "In ten years," he said, turning back to Scripps, mouth full. "when you're in a monastery or whatever, I will be happily married with shitloads of cash and beautiful babies,"

Scripps continued to smile condescendingly back. "I'll believe it when I see it,"

"Alright. I'll put it to the test," Dakin turned to Crowther. "Crowther, darling, marry me?" he said camply, fluttering his eyelashes. "And we shall have beautiful babies,"

"Shut up, you prick," Crowther didn't look up from his script. "I'm trying to learn my lines,"

Scripps grinned smugly as Dakin turned to Rudge. "Rudge, darling, marry me?" he asked, pouting. "And we shall have beautiful, slow babies,"

"No," Rudge grunted simply. "Don't think my bird would be to happy,"

"Ooh, two rejections!" Scripps whistled tunelessly. Dakin gave him the finger before turning to Timms.

"Timms, love, marry me?" he asked, a sneer playing around his full lips. "And we shall have beautiful _chubby _babies,"

Timms gasped, pretending to be offended. "Just for that, no!" But he turned back to Dakin, a glint in his eye. "Posner will marry you, though." he snickered.

Rudge snorted into his sleeve as if at some shared joke with Timms as Dakin looked mildly horrified, though he tried to retain his cool air of indifference. Posner, on the other hand, looked openly appalled, his wide eyes darting between Timms' nastily grinning face and the ceiling. A delicate pink spread to his thin cheeks.

Scripps opened his mouth-he wasn't sure what he was going to say, but he would say anything, _anything_ to defend Posner, to save him from this horribly calculated set-up. The smaller boy looked like a china doll-ghostly pale with deep rose cheeks. He looked ready to either run away or die. But before he could speak-

Dakin tapped the table with his fork, frowning slightly. Then- "Aye go on then," He fixed his devastating dark eyes on the anxious Posner, to the amazement of Timms. "Fuck it," His voice was emotionless, almost bored, as he drawled: "Posner, will you marry me?"

Posner gaped at Dakin in disbelief. Half of him looked absolutely mortified. But the other half-the other half looked as if he had been dreaming of this moment his entire life. Not this exact moment-but a moment like it. His eyes shone…A strange sensation gripped Scripps, as if a huge weight was pressing down in his chest and stomach-which suddenly felt bottomless. For the first time in his life-the first time _ever_-he truly wanted nothing more than to punch Dakin in the face as hard as he could.

Reeling with shock and surprise, Scripps yanked himself back to his senses. What was he thinking? And why was he so-so _angry_? He was _never_ angry. _Never_. Especially not at his friends. Dakin was his _friend_, for goodness sake. Why on Earth was he suddenly furious with him?

"Well…" Posner finally found his voice, trying hard to stay cool. He gulped. "Alright then."

"Ha!" Dakin beamed triumphantly at Scripps. "Told you,"

Scripps said nothing. His hands clasped in his lap. Why did he suddenly feel that his insides had fallen out?

"Come on, Posner doesn't count for this game!" Timms was clearly both miffed that his joke had back fired and shocked that Dakin had gone through with it.

"I still won," Dakin signalled to Posner, who appeared to be in some kind of trance. "Come on then, wifey, take this back to the kitchen for me, would you?" He gestured to his crowded tray.

"Don't you bloody dare-" Scripps began, trying to keep his tone light and jesting-but Posner had already sprang to his feet and was practically skipping towards the racks by the kitchen wherein the boys were supposed to leave used trays after lunch.

Dakin stretched lazily. "There's a good pet."

"Awh, look!" Timms had switched back to his joking persona, smirking. "He's your little lamb!"

Scripps watched Posner as he scraped Dakin's plates into the provided bin. Although he had his back to them, he could tell his smile was a mile wide. Scripps hated the way Posner basked in scraps of attention from Dakin, as if they mattered more than anything in the world. He would never say so-but he hated the way Dakin treated him. Mostly it was indifference, merely vainly basking in Posner's devotion and admiration-but it was so much worse when he took advantage of it. It made something unpleasant twist in Scripps' stomach.

"What?" Dakin frowned suddenly at Scripps, bringing him out of his thoughts. Scripps realised he had been staring at him.

"N-nothing," he said quickly-then dropped his voice to a murmur so only Dakin could hear. "You shouldn't…_encourage_ him."

Dakin's frown deepened. Suddenly, he didn't look quite so handsome. "Not my problem," he said, with an almost defiant air of indifference. Scripps stared hard at him.

"And you shall have beautiful Jewish babies!" Timms was saying in a falsely sweet voice.

"What's this?" Suddenly, a bespectacled teacher appeared behind him, wearing a dark suit and an overly keen expression.

"Mr Irwin!" Suddenly, Dakin sat up, poker-straight. "On your lunch-break, sir? Did you forget you're not a pupil now? You're supposed to go to the staff room. Careful, you'll get reprimanded for improper school uniform!" he said, very fast.

"Ha ha, very funny," Irwin turned quickly away from Dakin-much to his visible annoyance. "No, I'm stuck on duty." He sat down in Posner's chair and slouched, looking even more like an overgrown schoolboy. Scripps smiled good-naturedly at Irwin; poor guy. He tried so very hard. "Go to make sure the younger ones don't kill one another. So what's this about Jewish babies?" the young teacher asked, looking as if he half-dreaded the answer.

"Dakin and Posner got engaged sir. And they shall have Jewish babies." Timms informed him, just as Posner himself returned to the table. Mortification swept like a tidal wave over his face again, as Dakin, who had looked irritated at the lack of attention from Irwin, looked eager rather than embarrassed as Irwin turned back to him, looking both surprised an uncertain.

"…Right. Wow." He whistled through his teeth as Posner stared hard at the ground, as if trying to find a crack to fall into. "Er…how long have I been in a coma?"

Dakin chuckled, much too forcedly. "It was to prove a point, sir."

"As good a reason as any," Irwin seemed determined to get in on the joke. "Well, congratulations, Dakin, Posner. Should I buy a hat?"

Posner blanched as Timms and Rudge spluttered with laughter. Scripps gestured to him to sit down, before realising that there was no longer a seat to take. Irwin must have realised this, for he made to stand up-then sat back down firmly, a smirk around his lips. "Shame on you, Dakin, leaving your fiancé to stand while you sit!" He gasped theatrically. "You ought to give up your chair for him."

Timms and Rudge gasped in astonishment, and even Crowther looked up to see what Dakin would make of this. Scripps made to stand up himself to keep the peace, but Timms locked him into his seat with one strong arm. "I wanna see this," he hissed.

Posner himself fidgeted, staring determinedly at the ground.

Dakin glowered at Irwin, amazed. He clearly hadn't wanted the joke to extend this far. "What? Are you fucking-_seriously_?" he stammered in disbelief.

"I have never been more serious." Irwin managed to keep a straight face, thought his eyes shone. "Stand up for Posner, Dakin, or I shall think less of you."

"Yes, Dakin, stand up for me," Posner said suddenly. He folded his arms and stared down at Dakin, who's mouth hung stupidly half-open. "It would be _terribly_ rude not too."

Dakin gawped in amazement as Scripps felt a pang of admiration for Posner.

"Do as your _wife _says, Dakin!" Timms nudged Dakin with his foot, now wheezing with mirth. "Stand up!"

Dakin could see his hands were tied. Shooting an evil glance at Irwin, who watched, amused, and glaring at everyone else, he sluggishly stood up. He walked around to the other side of the chair and stood beside the incredulous Posner, who looked surprised at his own daring. "Happy?" he snapped.

"Pull the chair out for him," Irwin ordered, supressing a smirk.

Dakin muttered several rude words under his breath which demonstrated what _exactly_ he thought of that idea.

"I will not have that sort of language from you in the presence of your _wife_," Irwin grinned at Posner, who was now looking hopeful, to show he was joking, before looking seriously back at Dakin. "Pull out the chair for Posner immediately. That is an order." Irwin held up a finger as Dakin began to say what Irwin could do with the chair instead. "You will thank me later in life for this important lesson in_ manners_."

Colour now tinging Dakin's cheeks, he glared at Irwin before dragging the chair out a reasonable distance from the table, making as much noise as he could on the industrial floor.

"There now. That wasn't so hard, was it," Irwin smiled satisfactorily at the apoplectic Dakin. "Invite him to sit."

Without bothering to protest, and without looking at Posner, Dakin offered him the chair with a sarcastic sweep of his arm. Posner sat down quickly, looking both scared and triumphant. "Thank you."

"Welcome." Dakin grunted. He looked up at Irwin, who gave half-hearted applause.

"Well done, Dakin. A lesson I'm sure your peers will not let you forget,"

"Oh don't worry, sir. We _won't_ let him forget." Timms looked as if Christmas had come early.

"Now, if you will excuse me." Irwin rose majestically, still smirking at Dakin. "Remember-you all owe me your essays on Stalingrad after lunch. I _hope_ they will be less mind-numbingly dull than your previous essays." He swept away, leaving Timms, Rudge and Crowther to bully Dakin mercilessly for the rest of lunchtime.

Scripps glanced at Posner, who was looking straight forward. There was a wonderment in his eyes, as if he had experienced something magical.

"Okay?"

"…Yeah." Posner smiled at Scripps dreamily. "I think I'll be alright…" He continued to stare straight forward, as if gazing at another world.

Scripps folded his arms, watching Dakin as Rudge rubbed his knuckles on his head and Timms mimed a blow-job at him. Dakin shoved him away hard, swearing. He kept glancing over in the direction of the staffroom.

Scripps looked back to Posner.

What on Earth did he see in him? Why Dakin, of every boy Posner knew? Yes, he was handsome-but so was Crowther. So was Lockwood. Why Dakin? Why not anyone else?

And why did he have to be in love with anyone at all?

Scripps shook his head hard. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_…He expelled those thoughts from his mind. Looking up at the ceiling, he thought about Jesus. Jesus was protective of his friends, wasn't he? Look how he'd defended Mary Magdalene in the Book of John. It was perfectly natural to feel responsible for Posner, to care about him deeply. There was nothing wrong with that. He was bound to feel older-brotherly toward such a vulnerable, innocent friend. That's all it was, after all.

**Thank you for reading. Chapter Three soon xxx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello. Thank you so much for reading-I hope you are all well and happy. The next chapter will be posted as soon as I can xxx**

Still wearing only his father's ancient dressing gown and striped pyjamas, Scripps played the old family piano, taking advantage of the otherwise empty house to play as loudly as he could. The tired instrument was squashed into a corner of the dining room, scratched mahogany wood with off-white keys, some of which were so stiff they had to be pressed very hard to produce a sound. But Scripps was well-used to it by now, and considered these imperfections part of the piano's charm. His bare feet worked the pedals as he played, eyes sweeping back and forth across the sheet music propped up before him; the accompaniment to a song from some musical Posner wanted to sing.

Scripps practised the song again and again, until his deft hands almost followed the music themselves. He periodically glanced up at the clock, counting down until he would have to get dressed and collect his little sisters from their ballet class, which ended at midday. As both parents were at work by now, the responsibility had been handed to Scripps, who didn't mind the two-mile round trip to the studio and back. It wasn't a bad walk-and some fresh air would clear his head.

While still playing, Scripps calculated how much money was left in his wallet-he would take the girls for ice-cream on the way home. He needed to get out of the house-it was much too quiet. This morning, his thoughts even drowned out the piano, no matter how loudly he played.

He heard Posner singing the melody in his head as he played. He envisioned the classroom, Stuart Dakin sprawling over his desk in the corner, Posner's misty eyes fixed upon him…

Scripps glanced up at the small wooden cross hung on the wall beside him, fingers pausing mid-bar. They shook slightly.

All night, he had lain awake, trying desperately to find a reason for this suddenly resentment of his friend-_his friend_-Dakin, relating to Posner. Twice he had decided he was merely bored of their ongoing saga. Twice he wondered if this was just an outlet of stress regarding university; the interviews, the exam, the pressure…but nothing could explain it.

This wasn't him. Scripps was almost never angry. He didn't understand why he was so upset about something that didn't even concern him. Dakin and Posner were his friends. It just happened that one loved the other. It had been that way for ages. So why now did it bother him so much?

He continued to stare at the cross. It was normal to worry about one's friends. It was normal to want to protect them. It was okay to feel angry, as long as he forgave -that's what he had been taught. But how could he overcome this when he couldn't fathom what it was he had to overcome?

"Please." Scripps said aloud. His voice was slightly breathy, as he appealed to the cross on the wall. "Please, Lord…help me find strength…help me find peace…"

* * *

Scripps arrived customarily five minutes early. He made his way through the heavy red door and navigated the white corridors and the steep, narrow stairwell until he found the small room in which mothers waited for their children, which had a window so you could see through to the ballet studio. The whole studio smelled of an odd mixture of sweat and perfume. He looked at the action photos of the older students on the walls; long-limbed slender girls in leotards and tights, leaping, stretching, pirouetting. It was such a _female_ environment-Scripps always felt slightly ill at ease. A father was a rare sight, except at the showcases, and the ratio of boys to girls training was tiny. There was but one photograph of an athletically graceful boy in black, his leg held high over his head. Scripps could hear the buzz of female voices behind the door to the waiting room.

"…and my husband says if he sees Felicity's feet bleeding one more time, he won't let Felicity _or_ Georgia carry on dancing!"

Inexplicably, there was a burst of_ laughter_ from the other mothers. Scripps started-he was always a little wary of these women.

"Oh look, there goes little Maisie."

Scripps leaned on the door to listen, hearing his youngest sister's name.

"She is_ soooo _cute! Her little curly hair…" one of the mothers sighed. Scripps grinned.

"That's her sister over there. Lily?"

There was a buzz of agreement. "Sisters, yes. Their mother just drops them off and leaves them instead of staying to watch," another mother tutted. Scripps frowned-apparently this was not the norm? He was confused. Did they all stay and watch for the whole two and a half hours? Gossiping like witches around a cauldron?

"My husband knows the father from work. Lovely family. Christians. Told me Donald-their eldest-is trying for Oxford-or was it Cambridge?"

There was an impressed murmur-Scripps couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride.

"The lad who picks the girls up?"

"Yeah, that's him,"

"Ooooh!" Another mother suddenly gave a carnal groan. "So he's clever _and _gorgeous!"

There were shrill giggles and gasps. Scripps reeled back.

"Caroline! He's young enough to be your son!" one mother shrieked.

"_Grandson_," another woman sneered, to more cackling.

"Come on-he's _lush_," the woman called Caroline was saying. "I've seen half of you looking at him when he collects the girls!"

There were squeals of denial. "You are _terrible_!"

"Come on, I would," Caroline was saying. "Do you think he had a girlfriend?" More squeals.

"Why don't you get your Esther to ask one of his sisters?" one mother said sarcastically.

"Ooooh, imagine my ex-husband's face if I turned up with a sexy toy-boy!"

"Imagine my _husband's_!"

"He'll be here in a minute. He's never late."

"Do you think I should invite him to the pub?"

Scripps started at how serious Caroline sounded. He had begun to feel very vulnerable. Thinking about how much it annoyed him when Dakin objectified Fiona, he realised he understood how she must feel.

"If he's old enough to go in a pub," More cackles.

"I'm_ so _going to ask him out!" Caroline sounded like a teenager, giggling away.

A small rumpus announced that the class had ended and the ballet students had arrived. Reluctantly, Scripps pushed the door open and entered the room-instantly aware of every mother's head whipping around to look at him. He looked up and smiled as politely as he could, keen to grab his sisters and go. He could hear Caroline twittering across the room. Keen to avoid her, he skirted around the side, trying to blend in until-

A five-year-old auburn-haired tornado jetted across the room towards him, wearing a headband and a mile-wide grin. "_Donny_!"

"Hey!" Scripps matched Maisie's grin, bending down to catch her. He swung her high into the air as he always did as she squeaked in delight, trying not to be very aware of the other mothers watching them. "How was it?" he asked, balancing her springy little self in his arms.

"Good." She beamed at him, patting his hair, and Scripps felt his worry seep away a little. Suddenly, he felt a small pair of arms grasp him around the legs. He looked down to see a freckly six-year-old face.

"Hey, Lily!" He bent down to scoop her up in his other arm, just about managing to keep his balance. It wouldn't be long before Lily was too big. "Good morning?"

"Yeah." Lily was never so enthusiastic about dance. He adjusted them both comfortably onto his hips, then tickled Lily gently until she smiled. Looking down at his little sisters as they gazed up at him like a pair of spaniels, Scripps felt a rush of affection for them. Suddenly-he realised something was missing. "Why aren't you two changed?" he asked, realising although both girls had changed into their trainers and wore cardigans, they still had their leotards and tights on underneath, soft ballet shoes in their hands.

Both girls looked sheepish. "Mummy forgot to give us the bag," Maisie explained. Scripps suppressed a sigh-_typical_. Quite often he had to walk back though town with two little girls in ballet clothes in tow-usually carrying their ballet shoes himself. But he fixed a smile back in place.

"Silly Mummy," He adopted a teasing tone. "You two had better not get any ice cream down your leotards, then!"

"_Ice cream_?!"

Scripps was rewarded with two hopeful, gap-toothed grins. "Come on, then, you two," Mentally awarding himself Brother of the Year, he carried his whooping sisters out of the waiting room, shutting the door quickly with his foot to drown out the coos from the mothers.

"Look how sweet he is! He is _mine_. _Mineminemineminemine_!"

* * *

"Scripps? Hey, Scripps!"

Scripps spun around, leaving Maisie and Lily to excitedly read what the menu inside the cheerful ice cream parlour had to offer. He scoured the small café for the source of the call-until he spotted Dakin sat on a table near him, opposite a beautiful girl with light brown hair-Fiona. Scripps's stomach lunged-then settled quickly. His hand feeling uncharacteristically heavy, he waved and grinned awkwardly at his classmate, who had stood up to talk to him. Fiona looked somewhat put-out, though she smiled determinedly over the sundae they were sharing.

"Hey!" Dakin embraced him in a one-armed hug, seemingly in a wonderful mood. He smelt of cologne. "How are you, you fuck-"

"Shhh!" Scripps gestured to his sisters, who would still be in earshot.

"-You bender," Dakin opted for, patting him hard upon the back and giving a boyishly handsome smile. Without waiting for an answer, he launched into his next sentence. "I was going to call you later. Listen, my parents are away for the weekend and explicitly forbade me to have any parties. So boys night at mine tomorrow?" He grinned mischievously.

"Oh-okay!" Scripps' smile became more strained. "That sounds great,"

"It was going to be tonight, but Rudge has a rugby thing." Dakin explained, looking very pleased about something. He leaned over to Scripps and murmured in his ear. "So tonight, there's a private party in my pants," he said roguishly, jerking his head towards Fiona, who smiled obliviously.

"You jammy beggar," Scripps tutted good-naturedly, punching him on the arm in a display of normality. Dakin grinned and pulled away, blowing a kiss over to poor Fiona.

"Donny! We've chosen!" Maisie called.

"Okay!" Scripps waved to her-and motioned to Dakin that he had to go.

"Stuck babysitting? Sucks to be you," Dakin shrugged. "But you'll be at mine at eight, right? Oh-and bring what booze you can!" he added as an afterthought. "I've got my parents drinks store in the cellar, but not sure if it's all fancy wine shit."

Scripps raised an eyebrow. "So we get together a tonne of booze that only five of us will drink?"

"Five?" Dakin frowned, counting on his fingers. "Akthar can't…Posner won't…"

"I can't," Scripps smiled at the ground. Dakin gasped theatrically, throwing his hands in the air.

"_What_?!" He threw his hands in the air, unable to get his head around it. "You don't drink?"

"Ephesians says." Scripps grinned. "I can have, like, a glass, but I can't get drunk."

"You don't have sex, you don't wank, and now you don't get _pissed_?" Dakin patted Scripps' shoulder in a mock display of concern. "They'd better have a bed ready for you in the bin, mate, seriously."

Scripps shoved him off. "It's not that bad. Anyway-I'll bring some, okay?"

Dakin grinned. "You're the best."

"Can't wait for tomorrow!" Scripps mustered as much enthusiasm as he could.

Sitting down, Dakin hesitated for a second before saying: "Look, do you mind calling Posner and telling him? I don't think his nerves would stand it if I phoned him myself."

Scripps swallowed hard. He forced a teasing grin. "Even though you're _engaged_?" he snickered. Dakin gave him the finger.

"_Donny_!" Maisie called again. "Come on!"

"See you tomorrow,_ Donny_," Dakin drawled, grinning, as Scripps walked off quickly towards his sisters.

**SPOILER: Party, party, party! xxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello. Sorry for the delay-hope everyone enjoys. More as soon as I can. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing-it means a lot to me. Hope you're all well and happy. xxx**

Posner scrutinised himself in the bathroom mirror, discarded shirts lying all around him on the floor. He buttoned up his final choice. Deeming it the most acceptable, and running a hand through his hair yet again, he "borrowed" a few drops of his father's cologne stratigically. An untimely spot had already been concealed with a subtle dap of his mother's foundation. It was a shade too dark for his skin, but Posner hoped Dakin's house would have low lighting.

Dakin's house. He was going to Stuart Dakin's _house. _

He had barely concealed his elation on the phone to Scipps, and had hardly sat still or eaten all day. He'd never spent so long getting ready, never worried less about the entrance exam in a few weeks. Dakin's house. He wondered if there would be photographs, reminders of past Stuart Dakins he'd never known. Would it be spotlessly tidy, the work of an efficient mother-or would it be a messy male den, intriguing and exciting? Perhaps-

"David?" called a female voice from downstairs. "David, dear? Are you alright?"

"Fine, Mum!" Posner shouted back, experimenting with the flick of his hair-did it look better to the left or the right?

"Are you sure? You've been in the bathroom for half an hour!"

"I'm sure that's an exaggeration, Mum!"

"Where is it you're going again?"

Posner suppressed a sigh. She'd already asked him this question four times. "To Da-Stuart Dakin's. My-friend-from school. He's having a party."

"A _party_? When will you-Come down and talk to me properly. I've hardly seen you all day."

Resigned to his fate, he picked up the armful of shirts and tapped down the stairs to the kitchen. A slightly rounded woman with mouse curly hair beginning to turn silver was up to the top of her marigolds in the soapy sink. When she turned to him, her kind eyes brightened, the lines around them deepening. "There's my boy,"

Posner perpetually endured this treatment as he kissed her on the cheek. Since his brother and sister, thirteen and ten years his seniors respectively, had left home, he had never ceased to be her baby. "Come away from the oven, dear, it's still hot," she warned him, confirming this. She was in complete denial that he would be leaving in a few months. He had long since stopped reminding her that he was eighteen.

Reaching up to smooth his hair, Posner's mother scrutinized him. "You're looking thin, dear."

"You say this every time I have exams." Posner said patiently.

"Because whenever you have exams, you forget to eat. It's not good for you, darling." She patted his cheek worriedly. "You need to remember to take care of yourself too. Watch the oven," she reminded him as he stepped back subconsciously. "What time do you want to be at Stuart's?"

"Eight," David let her straighten his shirt collar.

"What sort of party is it? What's that smell coming from you? And what's that on your face?" She reached towards Posner's strategic foundation. He yanked away as fast as he could.

"It's just a gathering." he explained quickly. "Just the boys in my history class."

"Will there be girls there?"

"No," David said truthfully, withstanding the flow of questions.

"Shame,"

Posner spun around at the sound of this new voice. A small, slim man with wisps of grey hair strode into the kitchen, newspaper under his arm and a grin on his face. He wore a black coat, and looked exhausted, but happy to be home. He smiled at his wife and son proudly.

"Dad! You're back early," David kissed his father's worn cheek.

"Well, they don't own me at work," he said, embracing his son with one arm, then leaning over to kiss his wife. "What's all this about a party?"

David suppressed a sigh. "My friend from school is having a-gathering-tonight at his house."

Posner's father had been removing his coat-but stopped suddenly. "On a Sunday night?"

"A school night," Posner's mother added.

"What time will you be home?"

David hadn't been looking forward to this. He gestured vaguely in the direction of the hall, where sat his school bag, packed with school uniform and books. "We're all staying at D-Stuart's, then going to school in the morning from his," he rushed, mouth dry. "That's what you do at parties. He lives really near school so it's-"

Posner's father looked stunned. He folded his arms. "No. Absolutely not. You're not going to stay up all night, then waste your day in school because you're tired. You can go for the evening, then I'll come and pick you up at-"

Heart quickening, David suddenly felt short of breath. He'd been dreading this. "But Dad-"

"No buts. Don't you want to go to Cambridge?" Posner's father was resolute. David could feel his face falling. He felt slightly panicked. There was no way he was missing out on staying the night at Stuart Dakin's, _no way_. He _couldn't_. He looked beseechingly at both parents.

"Oh, come on Sam," Posner's mother suddenly chimed in. She was looking at David, head to one side, a sad smile in place. Suddenly, a flicker of hope rose in Posner's chest. "He's due a bit of fun. It can't all be work, work, work. That's just not fair on him-he works so hard, don't you, darling? He needs to spend time with his friends-they haven't got long left together. Look at him, he's clearly desperate to go." She stroked Posner's hair, while giving her husband a look that clearly wasn't worth arguing with.

There was _one _advantage to being his mother's baby.

Posner's father looked stunned. But he knew when he was beaten-and wasn't happy about it. He looked at his son as if he was making a massive mistake-but just for once, Posner didn't care. He silently begged his father, who's resolute face slowly crumbled in the face of two opposing parties. "Oh-fine. _Fine_. But you're not to drink anything, do you hear me? I know what these lads' parties get like. I don't care what the other boys do-you have to get some sleep and get to school on time tomorrow, okay? That's the deal, David." he said seriously.

Posner felt like jumping up and down. Feeling as if a huge weight had lifted from his chest, he grinned broadly at both parents. "I promise I won't drink anything. And I'll get to bed. I promise" he gabbled. His mother laughed fondly, while his father looked like he already regretted his decision. Posner managed to meet his eye.

"That's my good boy," Posner's mother beamed. "But let me give you a lift there-I don't want you walking around on your own at eight o'clock at night. It's not safe."

Willing to pay this small price, Posner gave both his parents heartfelt thanks, before almost dancing joyfully back upstairs. Tonight was the night of nights.

* * *

Dakin's house was smaller than Posner had expected. The living room was almost perfectly square, with red walls and cream leather sofas, covered in blue fluffy cushions which matched the rug under the coffee table on the wooden floor. There was a television and radio in the corner, but no books, apart from a few women's magazines stacked neatly on the surface. On the wall, to Posner's delight, there was a large photograph of a small older girl and a small younger boy, who looked very alike, with a man and a woman. The man could have been Stuart Dakin as he currently was, smiling handsomely at the camera. It was strange thinking of Dakin as being a son and a brother, with a family, the dead spit of his father, that he had been young once-as young as the small, dark-haired boy in the photo.

However, there was no space for quiet contemplation. Because the cellar and drinks cabinet had been raided, and Posner's classmates were drinking as if it was going out of fashion.

Loud music blared from the radio, boys shouted to one another and roared with laughter, doors banging and glasses clinking. Before Posner on the wooden boards, Timms and Lockwood comically jerked to the music, clutching bottles in their sweaty hands, much to the amusement of Akthar, who although sober had caught the tipsy vibe of the room. Posner had never seen him so free, so uninhibited. He could hear Crowther and Rudge laughing from the hallway outside. As he sat on the sofa, legs tight, hands cupped around a bottle of Coke, he was both unsure how he should behave-and deliriously happy. For, having begun drinking long before the others had arrived, Dakin himself was excitedly strutting about, even more deliciously confident than usual, dancing and chatting to everyone-including Posner. Right on cue, Dakin staggered into the living room, leaving Rudge and Crowther, and grinned around at his friends.

"Is this fucking awesome or what?" he declared, shooting a hand into the air-which unfortunately was grasping a can of larger, which dripped onto the floor. Either not noticing or not caring, he plonked himself down on the sofa, looking excessively-and lusciously-pleased with himself. His hair had come slightly out of its usual neatness, giving him a wonderfully wild edge. Posner felt his insides compress delightfully as Dakin grinned at him.

"_Posner_! Poz, my old friend!" he beamed, as if having only just seen him.

Posner smiled shyly back. He was scarcely able to hide his euphoria at being addressed so affectionately by Dakin-even if he knew in his heart that it was drink-induced. "Having fun?" he asked him coyly.

"_Fuck yeah_!" Dakin suddenly began to laugh loudly. "Look at these twats!" He gestured at Timms, who was now disco dancing like a twelve-year-old girl with Lockwood, who was giggling in a most un-Lockwood-like manner. Posner gave an obliging laugh, keen to please him. He gazed at Dakin, marveling for the thousandth time at how handsome he was. He felt his heart glow warmer suddenly.

Suddenly, Dakin noticed his Coke-with apparent horror. "What the _fuck_ is that?" he exclaimed, as if Posner was drinking something repulsive.

"Er…I don't really drink," he said, cringing at how _uncool_ he sounded.

"Big up!" Akthar cheered from the floor. "Not just me!"

"Not you too!" Timms staggered over, forth bottle of beer clutched in his hand. "Where the fuck is Scripps?" he demanded Dakin, as if he were hiding Scripps from him.

"Coming later," Dakin explained, still contemplating Posner's Coke. "He needed to do something or other-churchy, God-bothering shit, probably..._Fuck_. Three _boring _people at _my _party!" he declared, suddenly sounding like a child.

"Hey! It is so not boring!" Akthar protested. "I'm having great fun-and I'll be able to remind you all of this tomorrow!" he snickered.

"WELL!" Timms shouted, making a wild gesture with his arms. "YOU can be the Three Muska-QUEERS!" He roared with laughter, actually falling to the floor, clutching Lockwood tightly, who also chuckled wildly. "GEDDIT!" Timms chortled. "Three Muska-QUEERS!" Posner rolled his eyes at the pathetic joke, fixing a tolerant smile in place. But Dakin was doubled up with laughter-his hand suddenly grasping Posner's shoulder. Posner gasped-suddenly, everything seemed to stop. All he could feel was the warm, exotically unfamiliar weight of Dakin's celestial hand on _his_ shoulder…but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"DOORBELL!" Dakin yelled, making to get up-then sitting back down. His can seemingly weighed him down, as he giggled. "Poz-you go, mate. You go-see-who-it-is!"

Reluctantly, Posner stood up, leaving Dakin, and made for the door.

* * *

The second he was gone-Dakin shot up and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the coffee table.

"DOWN IT, DOWN IT!" Timms began to chant gleefully, still gripping Lockwood.

"No, no!" Dakin giggled again, gesturing to Posner's bottle of Coke, left unattended on the floor beside the sofa. He mimed pouring.

Timms gasped, and cried out with glee, while Lockwood laughed and Akthar half-protested-but his eyes shone.

"You do it!" Dakin thrust the bottle at Lockwood. "I-I think I'll spill it!"

Lockwood eagerly grabbed the vodka, still chuckling tipsily. He carefully poured half of the Coke into one of Timm's empty bottles of beer. Holding the mostly empty bottle in one hand and the vodka in the other, he raised them theatrically. "Should I do it?" he announced.

Encouraged by the cheering of the three other boys, Lockwood dramatically emptied the vodka into Posner's bottle. The clarity of the vodka was diluted by the brown liquid-enough to hide it reasonably well. But now-the ratio of vodka to coke was high. _Very_ high. Dakin shrieked in delight, looking as if Christmas had come early, while Timms and Akthar clutched each other, giggling hysterically into their sleeves.

Triumphantly, Lockwood replaced the bottle-just in time to hear Posner and Scripps' voices in the hall, coming towards them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello :') Thank you for reading everyone, and your lovely review made my day! You know who you are :') Thank you so much! **

**Hope you enjoy this chapter, and that you are well and happy.**

**I do not own the song used in this chapter :') Thank you xxx**

"Arrgghhh!" Dakin fell to the floor with a crash, dropping his can of Smirnoff which hit the coffee table and spilt onto the rug. He burst into a fit of hysterical laughter, seemingly unhurt and unaware of the small lake of liquid the rug was absorbing. Rolling onto his side and curling up into a foetal position, he continued to howl.

"You-you a-absolute _fuckin-_!" Timms roared-then suddenly clapped a hand to his mouth and ran from the room, across the hall, and shut the toilet door behind him. Rudge, Lockwood, and Crowther were a tangle of arms and legs on one sofa as they collapsed with mirth, handing a large bottle, which contained a potentially lethal mixture, around between them, and until that moment Timms. The sixth tape in the player had run out by now, but no one appeared to have noticed in the abyss of noise and commotion.

Giggling feverishly, Posner dropped to his knees beside Dakin. "Y-you alright?" he squeaked, voice higher-pitched than usual. He giggled again, one hand twisted in his hair.

Dakin turned towards him, a dashing grin in place. "M-marvellous! Never-never-ever better!" he declared rakishly. "Help me up, w-wifey, there's a g-good pet," He regally offered a hand to Posner, who took it eagerly, giggling even more as he stood up. He attempted to yank Dakin to his feet-but overbalanced-and both fell down in a giggling heap.

Scripps marvelled at the display in front of him, one hand clutching a plastic cup of beer and the other involuntarily gripping his forehead. The whole house smelled like a brewery, and Dakin's latest alcoholic addition to the floor was not the first. The sound of Timms vomiting tainted the air, just audible above the vulgar laughter. The last time Scripps had checked the clock, it was almost two in the morning.

As Posner failed for the second time to pick up the uncharacteristically clumsy Dakin, Scripps sighed and got to his feet. "Come on," He bent down and pulled Dakin up, sitting him firmly down on the sofa. "You, my friend, need some water,"

"N-no I don't! I am absolutely-" Dakin jabbed Scripps in the chest. "-not drunk-" He jabbed him again. "-at all." He collapsed backwards on the sofa, head lolling disjointedly to one side as he laughed.

Scripps turned away from him to look at Posner, who had got unsteadily to his feet. He frowned. Posner had been drinking Coke all evening. That could not account for his increasingly wild behaviour-how-? Suspicion gripped him. As Posner plonked down next to Dakin, still giggling like a schoolgirl, Scripps crossed the room to where Posner's Coke bottle sat on the windowsill.

"You know what, Poz?" Dakin was saying, voice wobbling slightly. "You're actually alright."

"T-thank you!" Posner beamed, speaking much more loudly than his usual gentle tone. "Y-you're alright too!"

"Yeah, you're alright. I thought-I thought you were really _weird_…but you're actually—quite-cool." Dakin was informing him. "You and I need to go for a drink some time. Like, seriously, mate. You, me, pub. We'll hit the pub some time, yeah? I-I'll take you-down the _pub_…and teach you about-about _big boy_ stuff, yeah?"

Posner giggled hysterically as Scripps picked up the bottle. It was empty, save a few drops at the bottom of light brown liquid. Removing the cap, Scripps downed the last few drops-and recoiled. "This is, like, ninety-per-cent vodka!" he exclaimed.

"HA!" Dakin's head shot up. "THAT'S SO-SO-SO-SO FUNNY!"

"No, it's not v-vodka!" Posner struggled to his feet and crossed the room to Scripps. "It's _coke_!" He snatched the bottle and waved the label in Scripps' face, so loud, so unlike himself. "Silly old Scrippsy!" he simpered, patting his arm.

"IT'S COKE, POZ!" Dakin yelled. "I P-P-PROMISE IT'S-" He broke off with laughter, as Lockwood too sniggered in the background.

Scripps swung around and marched up to Dakin. "You spiked his drink, didn't you?"

Dakin threw his hands in the air. "_Oooooh_!" he mocked. "_Sherlock_!"

"Seriously not cool!" Scripps gestured to Posner, who had collapsed back onto the sofa next to them, staring dreamily into space. "Look at him! I don't know _how_ he didn't notice-!"

"Come on, Scrippsy!" Lockwood called over, taking a swig from the communal bottle. "It's just a joke-it was only one bottle! D-don't be _boring_!"

"But look!" Scripps tried to keep his voice level. "He's never drank anything strong before-and he probably hasn't eaten-look at him!"

Posner had curled up, head resting on Dakin's shoulder, mouth slightly open, an impish grin on his face. Amazingly, Dakin did not pull away. "Leave him alone, _Saint Scripps_!" he said, suddenly sounding irritated and a lot more sober. "You're not his fucking _mother_. Relax a bit!"

Scripps relented and sat down,_ hating_ himself. He should have been looking out for Posner-of course the boy would drink_ anything_ Dakin gave him, unquestioningly. How could he not have noticed him become like this? The drunken Posner snuggled into Dakin's shoulder, singing quietly to himself. Scripps could hear faint strains in a poor, scratchy version of his usual pure voice:

"_Ask me how do I feel, ask me now while we're cozy and clinging…_

_Well, sir, all I can say is if I were a bell I'd be ringing_!"

Scripps bit his lip. Dakin's smug smile as Posner lolled on him made his stomach twist…but he shouted at himself in his head_. Stupid, stupid, stupid…just relax, Donald. They're happy, and you should be pleased._

Supressing a yawn, he turned away from Dakin. Akthar had already gone to bed in Dakin's sister Laura's room. He envied him…but he couldn't leave Posner. Resigned to his fate, Scripps sprang back up and put on a new tape at random, to much drunken cheering. He gritted his teeth and smiled.

* * *

Half past four. The house was finally quiet, apart from snores and the ticking of clocks. It was peaceful, as only the calm after the storm could be. Crowther snored on one sofa, while Posner had fallen asleep on the other, in the warm patch Dakin had finally been persuaded to vacate by Scripps and Lockwood, who had claimed Laura's other bed beside Akthar, while Scripps had just re-entered the living room to find Rudge yawning widely, cross-legged on the floor. "Did he go quietly?" he whispered.

Scripps shook his head. "We could only get him as far as his parents' room, so we stuck him in there."

"Did you manage to get him dressed?" Rudge seemed to have sobered up considerably quickly.

Scripps shook his head again, half-smiling. "He's still in his pants. Bloody hell...had to half-carry him to the bed. Weighs a tonne. The things I do for Jesus…"

Rudge covered his mouth to muffle the laughter suddenly. "Have you seen Timms?"

"No. Where is he?"

"Bath." Rudge said simply.

Scripps spluttered. "What? Asleep?"

"No, building a fucking rocket. Yeah, I covered him in a towel. Fucking mess-sick all down his shirt. Thought about turning the water on to clean him up a bit.

Scripps laughed. "Some night, huh?" Rudge grinned.

"Great night, yeah." Scripps lied, staring at the rug where Dakin's Smirnoff had stained.

Rudge glanced at the clock, counting. "In four hours, we'll be-" He yawned again. "-in Irwin's class."

"Don't say that!" Scripps caught the yawn. "We both need to get our heads down for a bit…"

"Right, yeah. I wanted to talk to you about that." Rudge folded his arms. "I was going to go up to Dakin's room, but he's got a double bed and it seemed an arsehole move to have it to myself while you had nowhere. I'm not really keen on sharing with you, you see. No offence!" He held up his hands. "Not you personally. But…you know what I mean."

Scripps nodded, slightly amused.

"Well…with all your Jesus stuff I figured sharing's sort of your thing…so I wondered whether you'd take Posner upstairs and share Dakin's bed, and I'll take the sofa. Okay?"

Rudge looked a little desperate-so comically so that Scripps laughed and agreed without thinking.

He approached the sofa on which Posner slept. Posner had spent the rest of the night making the most of the opportunity to cling to Dakin. He lay on the sofa, looking so peaceful, curled up, his fingers softly folded over his hands, expression more free of anxiety than Scripps had ever seen it. The thought of waking him from such a happy place made Scripps' heart ache.

"Go on then," Rudge was clearly keen to sleep. "See you in the morning."

Softly, gently, Scripps folded his arms protectively around the sleeping Posner and lifted him up. He was so small, so light; Scripps could feel his bones under the delicately pale skin as he held him in a bridal carry, resting his head on his chest. The feel of him in his arms made Scripps involuntarily quiver suddenly, his breath sharply leaving his lungs. Shaking his head slightly to expel the inexplicable feeling he slowly, carefully, made his way out of the living room and towards the stairs. Posner did not awaken, though he moaned slightly in his sleep as they began to climb, like a kitten yawning. Pictures of Dakin and his sister Laura covered the wall of the staircase, at various ages. There was a recent one of Dakin near the top, on some cliff overlooking a sea coast. He wore sunglasses and was staring into the distance, looking like a film star.

Scripps opened the first door-to find the mostly-naked Dakin spread-eagled on a double bed, foot hanging over the edge. Closing the door with difficulty, taking care not to disturb Posner in his arms, he tried the second-and found a bathroom, wherein, as promised, Timms snored loudly in the bath, covered in vomit and a towel. Suppressing a laugh for Posner's sake, he closed that and tried the next. It revealed a girls' room, with purple and white twin beds occupied respectively by the sleeping Akthar, and Lockwood, who lay with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Scripps nodded at him, and then shut the door.

Finally, he edged open the last door with his foot. Beyond was a small box bedroom, painted white, a double bed with union jack sheets crammed inside. There was not much room for anything alongside except a small wardrobe and a desk, which was invisible under a layer of textbooks, paper, history books and folders. A poster of Carrie Fisher in her metal bikini graced the wall, alongside another of Veronica Lake posing in black and white, and a further picture of Marilyn Monroe in a white swimsuit just above the bed.

So gently, as if handling the crown jewels, Scripps set Posner down on the bed, head resting on the soft pillow. He sat down on the bed beside him, suddenly not a bit tired. Four forty five, according to the fish-shaped clock on the wall, remnant of a much younger Dakin. Hugging his knees to his chest, he looked down at Posner. The curtains were still open, which cast a ray of late moonlight onto his peaceful face. He looked so much more like himself than when he had been giggling and holding onto Dakin. He looked more whole.

Scripps watched him sleep for a while, thinking. In the hours they spent alone together around the piano, Posner would come out of his carefully maintained shell. He'd laugh properly, make jokes, smile freely, sing without restraints. But the moment Dakin was in the equation…it was like he _shrank_. Whenever he was with Dakin, he seemed like only half a person. A shadow of the real David, whom Scripps felt lucky enough to catch glimpses of whenever they were alone together, playing music or just talking. Or even now, when Posner was fast asleep, long eyelashes spread like folded wings in the silence, punctuated only by his gentle breathing…

Suddenly, Scripps felt an invisible power take possession of his body, feeling himself somehow pulled with an overwhelming, almost sacred force towards Posner. It was stronger than anything he'd ever felt in his life…irresistible, compelling, an imperative…

Scripps felt something in his heart shift, like a gear stick, opening…and whatever was released was warm, like liquid sun and stars spreading over his whole body. Involuntarily, he gave a gasp, like a wounded puppy.

He stared at Posner. So empty…and suddenly so full. Full of…

David. _David_. It was David.

Scripps suddenly felt illuminated, his whole body shining, warm and deliriously happy. He gazed in wonder at the boy who lay so close to him, as if hardly daring to believe he existed, that his mass gently indented the soft mattress and pillow, that he breathed mildly, rising and falling, that if Scripps tore his eyes away for a second, he would disappear.

Scripps realised he had been in denial for months.

_David_. All along…everything he felt towards Dakin…

Scripps pushed Dakin firmly out of his head as he breathed shallowly, fighting not to make a sound, not to wake the sleeping angel. All that mattered was right here, right now. Scripps couldn't feel the bed beneath him, the walls around him, the ceiling above him. He existed outside of time and space, outside of reality, rationality, even humanity. And the reason was David Posner.

Without meaning to, Scripps' hand reached out and gently, so softly, stroked David's angelic cheek, fingers brushing his blessed, delicate hair. Touching him was electricity. Scripps pulled away as quickly as he had felt him. But his hand felt different, changed.

_David_. How could he have been so blind? Everything was suddenly so _clear_. Defined. Glistening, like newly discovered treasure.

Head reeling, he stared out of the window at the suddenly beautiful smoggy night sky. "Thank you, Lord!" he whispered, his face stretching into a smile wider than he had ever smiled in his life. And it was all because of David Posner. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time, wanting to both whoop out loud and curl up in silent elation.

Scripps looked back down at Posner, who slept on. Feeling as if he could never sleep again, he almost fell down beside him, propping himself up on one elbow on the pillow as his head whirled, trying to process this miracle. He gazed at David Posner, beguiled, mesmerised- shocked at how he had never seen this before. What was right in front of him all this time.

_David_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey everyone. Sorry for the wait. I hope you're all well, and thank you so much for reading. Next chapter soon xxx**

The eight boys who sluggishly dragged their reluctant feet into school the next morning certainly did not look like Oxbridge material. Timms looked faintly green as he trudged along, while Lockwood and Crowther were mumbling experimental excuses to one another for forgotten books. Rudge looked reasonably well, though his stubble was unchecked, and he kept running a hand over his chin self-consciously. Meanwhile, Akthar bounced happily along, speaking loudly into everyone's ears, which rung with white noise.

"YOU ALRIGHT THERE, LOCKWOOD?" he shouted, grinning gleefully. "LATE NIGHT, HEY?"

"Fuck off." Lockwood muttered venomously, rubbing his forehead. He turned to Scripps, who was rifling through his bag, rather more frantically than was necessary. "You alright, Scripps? You look like a fucking panda."

Scripps offered him a tight smile, then swiftly put his head back inside his bag. He felt his sleepless night physically-but it hardly bothered him mentally. Those few last, precious hours had gone far too quickly. Eternity could not have been long enough. He had felt reborn-renewed, like the tightest chains in the world had unbuckled around his chest, setting him free. It was as if he had been asleep for the longest time, and was only just waking up. Longing all night to gather him in his arms again, to feel him as close as he could be…but resisting. His presence was enough. Lying, in the silence, perfectly still…happy. So happy. So clear.

Until David-Scripps could not bring himself to call him Posner-had woken up, like a perfect kitten, butterfly eyelashes fluttering, looking up confusedly at the ceiling, those eyes Scripps had not stopped thinking about finding his own-it had been the final piece of the jigsaw…Only then, David realised that he was in _Dakin_'s room. That he had slept in _Dakin_'s bed.

Scripps had barely thought on where they were. They could have been anywhere in the world and Scripps wouldn't have given it a second thought. But when David comprehended that he had spent the night in Dakin's bed, seemed to disappear somewhere else…

It was like a knife to the gut. To have watched him sleep for hours, to have carried him up the stairs, feeling the weight of him in his arms, to have silently vowed to take care of him, to make sure nothing bad ever happened to him again…but for Dakin to have still been the only thought in David's mind when he woke…Scripps felt as if he had been kicked, punched, thrown at a wall. But he had never shown it. Not for a second. Not after poor David had sat up, confused, wondering what had happened last night. He'd gently explained what had come about, and brought him a big glass of water. He'd offered careful advice when David panicked about what his parents would say if they found out. He'd waited patiently while David, moving slowly, seemingly disorientated, stared all around Dakin's room as if he'd just gained access to an undiscovered treasure trove.

He'd smiled. Just the same. Finally, he left David to gather himself and get dressed while he looked after the other boys, helping Timms out of the bath, making tea and toast constantly while the others tried to piece last night together. He'd knocked on Dakin's parents' bedroom door, as the beast had not stirred despite all the morning activity, only to be sworn at croakily by the boy who was clearly suffering greatly with his hangover.

He took care of everyone. He couldn't do enough for them. Making sure everyone was okay the entire time…so he didn't have to face his own mind.

"AWESOME NIGHT, DAKIN!" Akthar yelled smugly in Dakin's ear. "DID YOU ENJOY IT, POZ?" he called, snickering.

"You fuck off, you twat." Dakin snapped at him. His hair was far from immaculate, and he looked exhausted, head down for once as he walked-and talked to Posner. The two had been conversing for the entire twenty-minute walk to school from Dakin's. David moved slowly-but his eyes were shining. No sleeplessness, no headache, could steal this moment from him.

Scripps drew a breath in quickly, finally zipping shut his bag as they approached Mr Irwin's classroom. Regretfully, his ears tuned into Dakin's voice.

"…Akthar told me we have to go for a drink now. Apparently."

"Oh!" Posner squeaked. "Really? I don't remember that."

"Neither do I. But apparently we arranged to go for coffee on Saturday morning." Dakin sounded resolute, putting the finger up at a smug Akthar. Scripps frowned. What was he _doing_?

"Saturday?!" Posner's face had evidently fallen, although Scripps had his back to them. "I don't know why I'd have said that. It's Shabbat-my parents likes us to be together. They will be hard to get around…"

Dakin sniffed. "Come on, one week?" He sounded genuinely annoyed-Scripps was sure he wasn't used to being rejected. "How long does it go on for? Can't you say we're studying or something?"

Posner he thought hard, looking harassed. "Look, I might be able to slip away for an hour…I'll try…I don't know though…"

"Come on, Poz!" Dakin treated him to his most charming smoulder-with a secret backward glance at Akthar, who was laughing behind his hand. Scripps suddenly got the feeling that this was a dare. He blushed on David's behalf.

"Erm…I'll try! As long as I'm there in the morning…and in the afternoon and evening…It's not like we're_ that_ orthodox…" Posner licked his lips nervously, keen to hide his eagerness. "As long as they don't find out that some _monkey _spiked my drink last night!" He laughed too enthusiastically.

"Whatever." Dakin was glancing again at Akthar, who was miming a blow-job behind him. "Just be there, alright? Eleven? Just for, like, an hour."

"Okay!" Posner gave him a bright smile-which made Scripps' heart ache-just as Irwin's door flew open in front of them to reveal the thin, nervous young teacher-and Mr Hector.

"_Bonjour, mes enfants_." Mr Hector was picking up his briefcase, looking slightly harassed. "Never fear-I'm leaving you in the _capable_ hands of Mr Irwin. No interfering from me and my…ah-_gobbets_." The sickly smile could not hide the undertone of bother.

Irwin had raised an eyebrow. "_Morning_." He grinned knowingly as the boys tiredly piled into the classroom. "Good one, was it?"

"It was alright, sir!" Dakin suddenly piped up, trying to look brighter. Scripps wondered if he was even aware of the hand combing through his hair. "Would have been better if I could remember a bloody thing," Promptly, as if to prove his point, he tripped over the chair leg.

"Ah, _"I say the gentleman had drunk himself out of his five senses." _Hector smiled, reminiscing_. _Dakin grinned hopefully at Irwin, suddenly no more than a desperate puppy in a dog's home._ But_ Irwin merely gave him a weak smile and gestured for him to be seated. Scripps plonked himself down miserably at the front. Saturday…Saturday…Posner would be in a café, being used by Dakin to win a bet, his heart racing, like he had made Scripps' race last night…the other boys quietly laughing at him…and Scripps would be collecting his sisters from ballet class.

He couldn't know. Even if he did…what would he do?

Scripps felt as if he was pushing against a great weight, keeping all of this bottled up inside him, supressing everything, letting nothing show. He couldn't. He had to hold his tongue.

David loved Dakin. There was nothing he could do about it. He knew that. He couldn't compare to Dakin. There was no point trying. Dakin was like Adonis… He could only play the piano to David's song which was meant for Dakin...Scripps shook his head violently, trying to concentrate on what Irwin was saying and nothing more. But, all the time, he felt David's heavenly presence, so close to him…but lightyears away. His jaw tightened.

It was alright. Scripps couldn't expect anything more. Just having David close should be enough. Knowing, even though the intention was not so, how happy Dakin made him, should suffice. Scripps could never hold David in the way he had longed to, could never be to David all he wanted to be, could never…It didn't matter that he finally could see clearly. Knowing why he felt as he did about David had only made it worse. He had preferred confusion, blissful ignorance. At least then it didn't hurt so much-so deeply.

David loved Dakin. His heart was Dakin's spaniel. And now Scripps' was David's. He had _become_ poor, unrequited David. Just as devoted, just as hopeless, just as utterly besotted. Suddenly-he understood. To have this person so close, so near, so present…and yet be unable to make them realize how _much_ you cared, how you didn't even matter anymore...

It was just him. Just Donald Scripps. There was nothing he could do. Nothing. Nothing would change. Nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello everyone. I'm so sorry for not updating-I was sort of taking my A levels :') Thank you so much for sticking with me- I will be more regualr again now. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Big love xxx**

Regardless of the bright sun, the late morning was cold and crisp, the wind strong and unrelenting. It bit at the back of Scripps' neck as he dragged his feet through the streets towards the ballet studio in town. He turned up his collar, then re-folded his arms across his chest, wishing he'd put on a coat, despite of the season. Having spent the entire week biting his lip, he now licked them periodically for warmth, feeling them becoming dry.

Dakin's mood had altered on a daily basis this week, which had a knock-on effect upon the rest of the boys. When Dakin was content, there were smiles and jokes. But when his handsome face clouded over and became cold, the communal temper ran and there was stony quietness. Even Scripps found it difficult to maintain his front of cheerful indifference. It was incredibly tiring. This was always the way; Dakin being the nucleus of the group. The only boy who's mood had remained consistent was David-who acted at all times as if crossing a tightrope when Dakin was around. Scripps watched hopelessly as he laughed too eagerly at Dakin's jokes, or when his lips quivered as Dakin summoned silent storms. Still-wherever possibly, David never left Dakin's side.

Scripps knew he was being pathetic. He hated being part of this horrible love-web within the classroom; watching David as David watched Dakin. It was so pitiful. A consistent cold war, an immovable stalemate in which every player was steadfast but knew they each fought a helpless cause. Scripps knew in his mind that it was unhealthy-he ought to focus all his attention on his studies-this was his _future_, and besides, all this caused him was agony. But as he lay awake every night, unable to keep David out of his thoughts…it was fruitless trying to suppress this. It was so _natural_. To stop would be akin to removing a limb. To feel for David so much…

There was the rub. He couldn't even name what he felt for him.

_Dakin is your friend. You have been friends for seven years. He will always be your friend. Your friend and nothing more. As long as he's in your life, nothing else matters. It doesn't matter that he will never feel anything for you. It _doesn't_. _

Although Scripps told himself this almost hourly…it barely helped.

Finally, he arrived at the ballet studio, lips pushed together, arms crossed tightly across his front. Suddenly, he caught sight of himself in the glass doors. He looked so tense. Taking several deep breaths, Scripps tried to re-apply his mask-he couldn't let any of this show in front of his sisters. Lily and Maisie had both acted strangely around him this week-he knew they could sense that something was wrong with him. Maisie was as wild, energetic and loud as usual, but patted his knee in her funny way more often than usual, and never made a fuss at bedtime. Lily was even quieter than normal, staring at him quizzically with her big, curious eyes as if trying to figure him out. She had such old eyes for six, and sometimes he wondered if she knew far more than she let on. He hated putting them on edge-it was like watching David pussyfooting around the turbulent Dakin.

Shaking his head firmly, he marched through the corridors towards the studio in which the girls were taught. He thought of David, trying so desperately hard to please Dakin. He imagined them right at that moment fulfilling whatever Akthar's coffee bet had entailed. He hoped Dakin would be in a good mood so David was at least comfortable. Scripps bit his lip-he hated to think of David being the butt of so many jokes. He envisioned him-having fought so hard to get away from his parents on the Sabbath-hanging onto Dakin's every word, perfectly silent, eyes wide and round, so pure … Scripps was not a jealous being, but he would have traded his perfect A levels in a heartbeat to have David look at him just once as he looked at Dakin…

But all thoughts of David-or anything else-were suddenly rudely ejected from his mind as he entered the waiting room to find the gaggle of mothers as well as two dance teachers all crowded something in the middle of the room. The noise was deafening-they all spoke at once with varying degrees of worry and panic. The Something they gathered around was sat in a further dance teacher's lap-just visible on the floor through the legs of the women and their daughters in ballet clothes-and it was crying bitterly, tears streaming down her freckled face, mouth open as she wailed in agony.

"_Lily_!" Scripps charged forward, cold fingers suddenly closing around his heart. Heads snapped up as the crowd parted to allow him to run to his little sister. He crouched down beside her, heart racing. The dance teacher who held her had one hand around her shaking shoulders and the other supporting her left arm. Lily turned to face Scripps-but winced in pain as she did. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out but another heart-wrenching cry of agony.

"What's happened?" Scripps asked urgently. Instinctively, he went to hold his sister, to comfort her in any way he could-but as soon as he touched her shoulder, she cried out again.

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay, sweetie." The dance teacher was a slender, thirty-year-old woman with a sugar-mouse voice. She looked up at Scripps, who was scarcely aware of everyone else in the room watching avidly. "This is your brother, isn't it, Lily?"

Lily nodded, going to reach out for Scripps again, but she was in too much pain. She stared desperately at him with watery eyes. Scripps tried hard to keep calm, touching a hand to her forehead, which was scarlet and boiling hot. "What's happened to her?" he asked again.

"She's hurt her arm," the dance teacher said-then dropped her voice so Lily couldn't hear. "We think it might be fractured. She fell hard on it. We were on our way to my car to take her down to the hospital-my assistant was just going to call your home."

Scripps tried to process all this, hand still on Lily's head, trying to comfort her as best he could. He couldn't believe it-how could this have happened to his sister? Seeing her in this much pain was more than he could handle.

"_Donny_!" Maisie suddenly appeared, running out of the studio and flinging herself into his arms. Her cheeks were also tear-tracked, eyes wide. "What's happening?"

"Maisie." He cuddled her in his other arm, still gently smoothing Lily's damp hair, scarcely able to look at her little face, all screwed up and magenta. "Did you see Lily fall?" he put to Maisie, who nodded, tears cascading down her own cheeks. Scripps held her close. "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay." Unsure who he was really talking to, he took another deep breath and looked back at the dance teacher. "Where is your car?"

"Just across the street." The dance teacher had clearly dealt with these kinds of injuries before. "Lily? Lily, sweetheart, do you think you can walk with me and your brother to the car?"

Lily said nothing, but her face contorted in pain. It made Scripps' heart break. He couldn't comprehend this-his little sister, being taken to hospital, in agony…

Another dance teacher had returned, holding a small sling. The teacher holding Lily took it from her and so gently secured it into place, supporting Lily's arm. She whimpered as it moved, more tears streaming down her face and dripping onto her lap. "It's alright, Lily," the teacher explained softly. "It's just to hold you all steady until you get fixed, okay?" Waving the watching crowd away with a graceful but definite hand, she began to stand up, gently guiding Lily by her good shoulder. Lily whined in protest like an injured puppy. "Come on, sweetheart. You're being ever so brave," the teacher coaxed her. Lily said nothing, but , gritting her teeth resolutely, she held out her good arm to Scripps. Without having to be asked, Scripps bent down to support her, helping the teacher move her gently to her feet. She was boiling hot and damp, and she cried out a few times-but eventually she stood straight. Scripps opened his mouth to congratulate her-but nothing came out. He found his own eyes prickling with tears of shock. Fighting them back for the girl's sake, he forced a comforting smile at Maisie, who was gripping his other arm like a vice, whimpering herself, as if Scripps would break himself if she let go for a moment.

"Good girl," the teacher said to Lily, whose tear-tracks shined on her freckled cheeks. "Right, we'll go slowly, okay?" She turned to Scripps. "Is there anyone to look after Maisie?"

"No," Scripps said, swallowing hard to try and make his voice sound less thick. "She'll have to come too."

"Right." The teacher let go of Lily, who clutched Scripps harder like a life support, and opened the door for them. At snail's pace, Scripps and his sisters made it through the corridors as one body, towards the entrance. The teacher, who introduced herself to Scripps as Lauren, chatted as brightly as she could the whole way, to try and keep Maisie and Lily calm. Lily's sobs echoed, each one like a stab wound to Scripps. Although he knew there was nothing he could have done, he couldn't help feeling guilty. He'd never broken a bone in his life; it was torture watching his sister suffering. He wished he could change places with her, take her pain away and bear it himself instead.

"You're being so brave, Lil," he choked, cuddling her as best he could without moving her sling. "Much braver than me!"

Lily managed a little smile through her tears-then winced as her arm jarred with the step she took. "It hurts!"

"It's going to be okay," he promised her, while squeezing Maisie's hand tight so she knew this applied to her too. She was being so quiet and good, despite her shock, looking worriedly at her sister.

"Mummy…" Lily spluttered.

"I'll call her the minute we get to the hospital, and she'll come as soon as she can. You're stuck with me until then, old girl." Scripps gave her a weak smile.

"It's okay," Lily leaned her head into him, gulping hard. "I'm glad I'm stuck with you. You'll look after me."

Scripps almost burst into tears himself.

* * *

"Scripps! _Scripps_!"

Scripps whipped around at the sound of his name-and pounding feet. He was helping Lily into the front of the car, negotiating her sling with the seatbelt. She emitted only dry sobs now-as if she'd run out of tears to cry. But as he turned around, Maisie still grasping his arm-miraculously, David Posner had appeared, his skinny frame running towards him at full pelt, a large satchel stuffed with books banging off his thigh. Despite everything, his heart did a rapid backflip. Jogging behind David, holding a disposable coffee cup and looking utterly put-out, was Dakin.

"_Scripps_!" David skidded to a halt. "What's going on?"

"Poz?" Scripps found his voice as Dakin stopped beside him, panting. He gazed at David. It was as if he'd dropped right out of the sky. "It's my sister. She-she's hurt her arm," he rushed.

David gasped, as Dakin swore under his breath. Lily looked up, her wet eyelashes sticking piteously together. Scripps noticed David's eyes widen as he looked down at her, then again as he took in her arm. "Is it-_broken_?" he mouthed.

Scripps swallowed, hard. "Maybe." He still felt shaken himself. David clearly noticed this, as he sighed sympathetically.

"Do you need help?"

A flood of warmth filled Scripps. He said nothing-but David looked into his eyes, and nodded understandingly. "We'll come with you,"

Dakin coughed slightly. Scripps started-he'd almost forgotten he was there. "_We_?" He looked as if he would rather be anywhere but here. Unlike David, he seemed slightly repelled by the girls' crying.

"Scripps needs help," David said firmly, crouching down beside Lily and clicking her seatbelt carefully into place with a comforting smile at her. He looked up at Scripps, seeming even more angelic than before. "Come on, you've helped me enough times. Time I returned the favour."

Scripps felt his insides condense into a pleasantly warm liquid, a heavenly contrast from his panic…but he would not let it overwhelm him as he bent down to his sister beside David. "Can you both look after Maisie for me? She's a bit-"

No sooner had Scripps made this request had Maisie finally released Scripps and ran-straight to Dakin. She threw her little arms around his legs, burying her face into the side of his jeans.

"Arrghh!" Dakin recoiled, not quite pulling away but looking suddenly scared and clueless. Clearly, children were firmly out of his comfort zone. The corners of Scripps' mouth twitched, despite everything, as Dakin looked wildly from Scripps to David. "Why is she _hugging_ me?"

"Sorry. I just told her you were taking care of her. She makes friends, erm, _quickly_." Scripps shared a look with David, who was amused. Maisie gripped onto Dakin, refusing to let go. She always behaved like this when she was scared.

"Look, do you really need me too?" Dakin was protesting, frozen as if Maisie was an excitable puppy. "I'm sure-"

"Oh!" Lauren appeared from where she had been loading items from the car into the boot to make more room. "Who are these?"

"They're my friends." Scripps explained. "D-Stuart and David are going to take care of Maisie."

Dakin rolled his eyes, looking furious-he was trapped now. He looked incredulously at Maisie, who clung to him like a vice.

"Oh-well, lucky they showed up when they did!" Lauren turned to Lily as Scripps stood up.

"Look, I'm sorry to ask, but can you walk her to the hospital? There are only four seats in the car, and I need to be with Lily." His tone was grateful and apologetic. "I'll meet you-"

"No problem." David cut in, smiling re-assuringly at Scripps. "We'll look after Maisie-you take care of Lily. Don't worry." Dakin was still tutting as he tried to quietly prize Maisie off him. David shook his head at him. "Don't worry," he said again. "We'll be fine."

"Donny!" Lily called out, voice cracking. It was like gravity to Scripps. Quickly, he bent down to Maisie.

"You be a good girl, okay? Stuart and David will look after you. I'll see you soon."

Maisie whimpered, pulling her face away from Dakin's thigh. "Lily…?"

"Lily will be just fine. We're looking after her,"

"Mummy?"

"Mummy will be on her way soon. I'll meet you at the hospital, okay?" He dropped a kiss on her forehead, beginning to back away to Lily. "Right-you be safe now-hold David's hand across the road-be good-"

Maisie nodded, grabbing David's hand to prove she would be. David looked quietly touched. "Come on then, Maisie," His voice was softer than usual, adopting a comforting tone. "We'll be okay, won't we?"

"Thank you so much!" Scripps rushed, shooting an indebted look at David, before hurrying back to the car, trying to collect his mind-which threatened to spill right out of his head.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello, everyone. I hope you enjoy this chapter-thank you so much for reading. And a special mention to you (you know who you are) for your lovely review-I feel very honoured. Thank you so much for your kindness, and best wishes :') Hope everyone is well and happy, and I will update very soon! xxx**

Posner watched as the car drove away, disappearing around the corner. He took in a long breath, feeling slightly disorientated as he considered the sharp turn this day had taken. Just a minute ago, he was finishing his coffee in a mostly-empty café, sat across from Dakin…and now he stood on the pavement outside a dance studio, holding the tiny, sweaty hand of a little girl with auburn hair in a leotard. Scripps' sister sniffled, tear tracks shining on her freckled cheeks as she looked up questioningly at Posner. He suddenly felt horribly responsible.

"We'd better get going," he said to Dakin, who was staring vacantly at the sky. "I don't want Scripps to worry."

Dakin grunted, still looking at neither Posner nor the little girl who stood between them. Suddenly, he set off at an alarming rate down the street, with the air of a man unjustly put upon. Posner scurried after him, holding Maisie's hand, distinctly aware that her legs were far too short to keep up.

"Dakin!" he called. "Do you-could you-?" His voice caught in his throat. "Would you mind slowing down? She can't-"

Dakin let out a short, sharp sigh, so venomous that Posner started. He stopped abruptly and turned on his heel to face his entourage. His eyes were cold and accusing, as if this was all Posner's fault. He stared at him for a moment, as Posner began to feel vaguely sick. But quickly, Dakin set off again, his pace reduced a fraction.

Maisie let out a small sob as she hurried along, making Posner feel even worse. Why was Dakin behaving like this? "I'm sorry, Maisie," he said to her. "I know you're upset. But we have to get you back to your brother, okay?"

Maisie nodded, gulping hard. "Okay," Her voice was high-pitched, the faintest of baby lisps still present as she cried. She gripped his hand firmly. Posner could faintly remember his need to cling to an adult when frightened as a child. With an unpleasant sensation in his stomach, he realised he had _become_ that adult. Feeling old, he looked desperately after Dakin, who was speeding up again.

"Dakin!" Posner called, desperate. "_Dakin_!"

Dakin stopped dead and whipped around. "What?" he snapped, frustrated. "Can you stop _bleating_ my name?"

Posner felt the ice in his tone like a spear to the chest. He was surprised-and hurt. "Maisie can't keep up," he explained pathetically.

Dakin looked at Posner as though he was to blame. "Carry her then," he retorted, marching off once again without any further comment.

Posner's mouth fell open. Dakin had begun to be short with him towards the end of their meeting this morning. It had been as if he was eager to get away. Posner hadn't thought much of it at the time…come to think of it, he had hardly thought at all this morning…

Maisie looked up at him quizzically. She let out a hiccough.

"Come on, then." He bent down and lifted her up, trying to disperse her weight neatly as he balanced her on his hip. She was small and light, but he knew she would not remain so as they covered the distance to A and E. He was also terrified of dropping her. The last thing Scripps needed was another injured sister. Nevertheless, he persevered, and increased his pace to almost catch up with Dakin.

Maisie seemed more relaxed in his arms-she was clearly used to being carried. He could easily imagine that Scripps' sisters had him wrapped around their fingers-he could never refuse anyone anything, least of all two cute little girls. He talked fondly about his sisters at school-it was clear they meant the world to him. No wonder he was so cut up when Lily was hurt. And no wonder they both plainly adored him. Posner wondered what his childhood would have been like if he had been this close to his older siblings. Whenever he was with them even now they generally still behaved as if he was a sticky toddler, keeping to themselves and talking down to him. When he was five, Lily's age, his sister had been perpetually absent from the house, involved in countless clubs and teams, and his brother was in exactly the same position Posner was in now-three As in his pocket and desperate to be accepted into Cambridge…He didn't make the cut.

Posner hurried along, holding Maisie carefully. The back of Dakin's shiny head was just in front of him, in touching distance. Posner had imagined so many times what that luscious darkness felt like beneath his fingers…

"Dakin?" He tried again. "Dakin, are you okay?"

"Will you bloody stop?" Dakin didn't bother to turn around. "It's really annoying."

"I'm sorry." Posner backed up quickly. "…But-"

"Fuck this." Dakin stopped dead in his tracks once again, so Posner almost crashed into him.

"Dak-" he began, appalled at his language in front of Maisie. But the dark-haired boy didn't seem to care. His eyes looked straight past Posner, nonchalantly into the distance. Posner realised with a start that this was how he always addressed him.

"You don't need me. You can get Maisie to Scripps and-the sister-whatever the other one's name is-at the hospital by yourself. I'm going home." With a sigh, he began to walk straight ahead in the other direction. "See you at school."

Posner felt as if Dakin had pulled a rug from beneath him. "What?"

"See you at school, I said." Dakin repeated louder, again not turning around.

Suddenly, Posner blurted out, his voice unnaturally high-pitched: "At school. Yeah,_ school_. Where you and Akthar and whoever else is involved will give you whatever they said they would to go for a coffee with me!"

Stopping, Dakin whipped around. The corners of his mouth were twitching. "What did you say?"

His amusement filled Posner with a sort of heat. It spurred him on. "You don't think I don't know what they all think of me? You don't think I don't realise that you all laugh at me? Treat me like a _joke_?"

Dakin looked mildly shocked, but let out a bubble of laugher, looking at Posner as if he was a child having a stupid tantrum. "Steady on, there." he chuckled. Maisie made a noise, and wriggled nervously in his arms. He patted her shoulder to re-assure her, as anger filled him at Dakin's reaction.

"I'm just a joke to you all. An oblivious baby with a stupid, infantile _crush_,"

Dakin's eyes widened in mock-amazement. "_What_?" His voice was high, condescending. He bent his knees, hands theatrically resting on his thighs. "You have a _crush_? On _me_? I'd _never_ have guessed!" He roared with laughter, eyes shining. "No one's _ever_ told me! Couldn't have made it a tad more _obvious_, could you?"

Posner felt his cheeks burning-even, to his annoyance, tears prickling behind his eyes. He felt as if someone had punctured his heart, and it was bleeding, slowly covering his insides with a horrible, hot liquid. "Go then." His voice was quiet. "Go."

"Right-o." Still sniggering, and looking pitifully at Posner, he sauntered away. That horrible, boiling liquid surged through him as he watched the boy he had loved so devotedly leave, without a thought, without a care, without_ feeling_.

"But Scripps would have helped you!" he shouted pathetically, as if this was his last breath. "He would have helped you!"

"Whatever." Dakin swaggered off, shaking his head.

Posner was left, holding onto Maisie, breathing hard and fast.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello everyone. Hope you enjoy the new chapter and that you are all well and happy. Thank you for reading xxx**

"…The x-ray confirmed that Lily has fractured her scaphoid bone," the young nurse was explaining. "It's not severe, so she just needs a cast." With a warm smile at Lily, she added. "Don't worry, it's just like a big thick bandage."

Scripps relaxed slightly. He and Lily had been taken to a white side room after the x-ray, where they had waited for about twenty minutes before being visited by this friendly-faced blonde nurse who had given Lily painkillers half an hour before. Lily herself sat on his lap, holding her arm close to her chest, head leaning on his shoulder. She had stopped crying by now, but hadn't spoken much.

"Thank you." Scripps' voice sounded odd in the small, echo-y room. "This has been remarkably quick."

"It's unusually quiet. You couldn't have picked a better day to break your wrist, pet!" The nurse laughed softly, and Lily managed a weak smile. She was exhausted from all the excitement. "I'll be back to plaster you up soon." She stood up to leave. "You'll need to come back in about two weeks so we can give you a new cast, then you'll need to keep that on for another four weeks until you're all healed."

Lily nodded, looking as if she didn't quite understand. "Thank you." Scripps said again.

"It's not a problem." The nurse treated Scripps to her warmest smile. "Just my job."

After she had gone, Scripps sighed, leaning back slightly. He squeezed Lily's good hand. "Broken wrist, hey, old girl? That's a turn-up." He made his tone as bright as he could.

Lily wriggled slightly. "It doesn't hurt so much now. Just sort of uncomfortable. It looks weird," she added.

Scripps once again took in her wrist, which was red, bruised and strange. He shook his head-it was still difficult to take in. "Only six weeks, and you'll be as good as new."

"Will I have to go to ballet still?"

Scripps laughed. "No, no! You can definitely take a holiday."

Lily looked pleased. "Good." She looked at the clock on the wall, which ticked far too loudly. "Where is Mummy?"

"On her way from work, now." Scripps promised this with some reservation-it would be at least another hour before she would arrive. They might even be at home by then.

"Where is Maisie?" Lily asked.

Relieved he had not had to answer the previous question, Scripps replied quickly that Stuart and David were bringing her. "They might even be here now, waiting."

Lily nodded, satisfied. "Good…Stuart?"

"The tall, dark-haired one."

"David?"

"The small, light-haired one."

Lily giggled. "Maisie?"

"The little bouncy one."

Lily laughed louder. She was enjoying this new game. "Lily?"

"The little annoying one." Scripps grinned as her mouth fell open. "No, I'm kidding, sis. You're the little brave one."

"Okay." Lily seemed brighter. "Donny?" She nudged him gently with her good elbow.

"Erm…" Scripps struggled. "Well, that's just me." He shrugged.

"You're the brother one." Lily informed him.

"The _brother_ one?"

"Yeah."

Scripps chuckled. "Okay. I am the brother one."

Lily fell quiet once again. She leaned into his shoulder as if she might sleep. Scripps always marvelled at how easily small children slept. No lying awake for hours, mind racing with worries and issues, unable to switch off. Just peace. Like David at Dakin's party…_stupid, stupid, stupid._ He felt disgustingly selfish, thinking about his own ridiculous problems when his little sister had a bone broken…but as Lily's eyes fluttered open and shut, he couldn't help it. Feeling terrible, he allowed himself to think about David, the weight of him in his arms that night, his presence behind him as he played the piano, his singing voice, the way he spoke, how those lips formed words...He liked to watch the small movements David made, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, his pale, slim fingers holding a pen, the visible shoulder blade when he raised his hand in class…

He knew he was only torturing himself. It was ludicrous, time-consuming and fruitless. His David was with _his_ Dakin right at this moment. He hoped they had got to the hospital by now, and that Maisie was okay. He would have liked to look for them, to have both girls safely with him, but he couldn't leave Lily. However, he trusted David completely. With a guilty surge for enlisting their help so suddenly, he hoped Dakin wasn't giving David a hard time.

* * *

"_Lily_!"

A high-pitched screech greeted Scripps as he and Lily emerged into the hallway filled with chairs outside A and E, where they had initially waited to be seen. Lily now sported a thick, solid cast which reached from her knuckles to just below her elbow. Scripps couldn't fathom why the cast had to be so long since it was only a bone in her wrist that was broken, but the plaster had been covered in a sort of white gauze and the whole thing was secured in a large white sling. It dwarfed Lily, but she seemed much brighter now. She kept tapping the hard cast, fascinated.

Scripps spotted the source of the scream towards the end of the corridor. Maisie was scrambling off David's lap to greet her sister. She shot up the hallway, and cuddled Lily as best she could. "What is _that_?" she squeaked, pointing at the cast.

Scripps looked up to see David slowly coming towards them. Though he smiled, it did not reach his eyes.

"I broke my wrist." Lily was telling her sister, with a slight note of pride in her voice. For once, she was enjoying the attention. "Look, knock on it!"

"Won't that hurt?" Maisie looked at it worriedly.

"No-feel it!" Lily took Maisie's hand and touched it to the plaster. Maisie's eyes widened in surprise.

"I thought it looked soft!"

While the girls talked, Scripps watched David approaching. He greeted him warmly. "Thank you so much for bringing her."

"It's not a problem." David's smile was fixed in place, but his eyes were dull as old gold. Scripps looked behind him curiously.

"Where is Dakin?"

David shook his head once-before quickly turning to the girls, bending down slightly. "How is your arm, Lily?"

Scripps frowned as Lily, suddenly not her usual, shy self, began chatting to David. Where had Dakin gone? And why was David so…lifeless? "What happened?"

David shook his head again, listening to Lily. Or under the pretence of doing so.

Scripps didn't give up. "Look, where did he go?"

"Home." David said monosyllabically, standing upright. Scripps frowned. Usually David was more than happy to talk at length about Dakin. Why this sudden silence? It didn't matter to Scripps that he had gone-it wasn't like Maisie had been left alone. But the effect it had had on David was disturbing. He was robotic.

"…Did something happen between you and Dakin?" Scripps asked quietly.

"Donny!" Lily called suddenly. "I need the loo!"

"Oh-right-" Scripps had almost forgotten where he was. Feeling awful, he looked around until he spotted the familiar sign. "Maisie, go with your sister." He didn't especially want to set foot in a ladies' toilet. "I'll be right here, okay? You both come straight back after."

"Okay," Maisie said breezily, leading the way.

When the girls were gone, Scripps turned back to David, who looked even paler. He opened his mouth slowly. Then closed it again.

"Did something happen?" Scripps repeated, feeling apprehensive. He didn't like David's body language.

Suddenly, David snapped. "Look, you're just going to say "I told you so", aren't you? You'll tell me it's my own fault!"

Scripps was startled. "Of course not! I would never-look, what's happened? Please tell me. You're scaring me."

David's pale cheeks were flushing red. "Okay, _fine_. Dakin "_said something I wouldn't like_." Exactly like you said he would the day I sang _She's Like The Swallow_ and Lockwood and Timms did _Top Girls_! He-" David broke off for a moment. "Look, it's been proved right. _Stupid_ little Posner's _stupid_ little crush has broken his heart!" he rushed, eyes cast upwards in despair.

Scripps watched in dismay as tears began to fill David's wide eyes. He looked distraught. Fighting the urge to simply throw his arms around him, Scripps searched desperately for something to say. He wanted to comfort him, to stop him crying, to tell him Dakin didn't matter, that he was worth so much more than that, that he was wonderful…but he couldn't.

"Oh, Poz…" he mumbled. That was all he could manage.

"It's fine." David said thickly, pursing his lips. "Go ahead and laugh at me, and tell me you knew it was going to happen."

"No-" Scripps stopped, horrified, as a tear dripped down David's thin cheek.

It was natural, human nature at its purist. "Oh, Poz, come here." He enfolded David into his arms, holding him tightly. David resisted-then gave in, leaning into him. He cried quietly into Scripps' shoulder in the middle of the hallway. Not caring who stared, Scripps embraced him, and the rest of the world seemed to melt away. Electric currents shot from the tips of his fingers as he held him close, his thin shoulders shaking slightly as he sobbed. Scripps felt like crying himself. Seeing David so hysterical almost killed him.

"There, now," Scripps mumbled tenderly into David's ear. "There, now."

David made a sound like an injured puppy. "I-I-can't-"

"There, now, shhh," Scripps made slow circles on the smaller boy's back with his hand. "Shh, it's okay. It's going to be okay." He knew he was spouting nonsense-but he just wanted to comfort him in any way he could. "It's going to be okay."

"I-it's _not_!" David gave a strangled cry. "I-d-don't know how I will ever face him again!"

"Shhh, it's okay." Scripps murmured. "It's going to be alright…Oh, please stop crying, I can't bear it," he let out, on the verge of tears himself.

David sniffed hard. He took several deep breaths. "I'm-being s-silly."

"No, you're not. How could you be?" Scripps held him tighter. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. David fitted perfectly into his arms. But he barely thought on that. All he could think of was how on Earth he could make this better for David. He held him safely. "I'm not going to let anyone say anything to you at school, if that's what you're worried about."

"No, that doesn't matter." David's voice still shook. "I d-don't care w-what he says."

Scripps sighed, still making slow circles on his miraculous back. Between his shoulder blades, he could feel his racing heart. "You clearly do. Oh Poz, I can't bear to see you like this."

"B-being stupid," David repeated, wiping his eyes hard.

"No, you're not. What's stupid about loving someone?" Scripps took a deep breath. "The person you love is just being stupid right now. Whatever he's said to you, however he's hurt you-" Scripps paused. He realised that old fury at Dakin was building up once again in his chest, stronger than ever. It was almost primal-a need to protect David at any cost. He couldn't believe that Dakin had hurt David like this. Had been so cruel to someone who he knew loved him so devotedly. "Look, David." He looked straight into his eyes. They were heavenly, in seas of tears. Scripps reached up and gently wiped away the last tear. David looked surprised-but Scripps carried on, not caring. "I'm not going to let him hurt you again. You don't deserve it." It was as if he was speaking with someone else's voice. "I'm not going to let _anyone_ hurt you again. _Ever_. I swear."

A long moment passed. It could have been a hundred years. Or just seconds.

David's eyes were wide. He stared straight back into Scripps' eyes, and seemed to notice something he never had before. He opened his mouth, as if to say something…then closed it. His eyes swam with tears, but he blinked them back hard. Suddenly, he broke firmly away from Scripps.

"David-?"

"I have to go." David was backing away fast, sounding distracted. "I need to get back to-I have to-"

"David?" Scripps was confused. His arms suddenly felt cold and empty.

"I need to go," David repeated, suddenly looking frightened. "Tell Lily I hope she gets well soon. Say goodbye to Maisie for me," he gabbled.

"_David_?" Scripps' voice had become forlorn.

"Goodbye, Scripps!" he called, his voice a flute. That was the last Scripps heard as he disappeared around the corner.

Scripps was still and silent. He felt as if he had experienced a hurricane. So full of emotions, he was completely empty. Then-he shouted out loud. It was a wordless cry of pain and anger, which echoed off the walls and ceiling. A tidal wave washed over him as his head fell into his hands. It was as if his centre of gravity had been ripped away, leaving him drifting in space, cut off, hopeless...

_David_...


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello, everyone. Sorry for the delay. Thank you so much for reading and following-I really appreciate it. I hope you are all well. Thank you xxx**

"_Speak again_!" Crowther declared, knelt on the floor before the standing Dakin. "_Speak again, Jokanaan, and tell me what I must do_." He delivered the lines like a professional actor, eyes hungry as he reached out to touch Dakin's leg-but Dakin recoiled, stepping back and holding out his arms warningly, as if Crowther was a wild animal. Almost all of the boys watched Crowther, enraptured.

"_Daughter of Sodom, come not near me! But cover thy face with a veil, and scatter ashes upon thine head, and get thee to a desert to seek out the Son of Man_." Dakin's acting seemed to be enhanced by Crowther's talent, as he regarded Crowther with a mixture of fear, piety and pity. In the corner, Hector clapped delightedly.

"_Who is he, the Son of Man_?" Crowther's voice was honey, so unlike his usual tone. He managed to be feminine, while avoiding any trace of campness as he slowly rose to his feet. He lent in to Dakin and whispered seductively. "_Is he as beautiful as thou art, Jokanaan_?"

"_Get thee behind me_!" Dakin shouted, jumping away. He looked around dramatically. "_I hear in this palace the beating of the wings of the angel of death_."

The boys broke into hearty applause, which Hector joined enthusiastically. "Bravo, Crowther, bravo!" he boomed.

"And me, sir?" Dakin reminded him, shrinking back into himself.

"Yes, yes, you too, Dakin." Hector appeared to brush him off, turning back to Crowther. Dakin frowned. It seemed that the more time Dakin spent with Irwin, the more of his "golden boy" status in Hector's eyes was lost. "But marvellous, Crowther, simply marvellous!" Hector himself was saying.

Crowther tried to contain his pleasure at the compliments. "Cheers, sir," he grinned, sheepishly. "Do you know what it was?"

Hector shook his head fondly, tutting. "Your excellence excuses you from my displeasure at your patronising me with _Oscar Wilde_, you oblivious coquettes."

Dakin shrugged as the rest of the boys laughed delightedly. "We knew you'd get that one, sir."

"Crowther, pray remind me of the play you are starring in this weekend?" Hector again ignored Dakin, sending Crowther up. "I think a, shall we say, field trip is in order? Boys?" He looked expectantly around the classroom, which was received with much nodding and agreement. Crowther looked slightly embarrassed, but thrilled, his eyes wide. It was rare he got this much attention.

"Oh sir, it's only _The Crucible_. Local am dram."

"There is nothing wrong with am dram." Hector stretched nostalgically. "I was no stranger to the boards when I was young…and I certainly have a soft spot for Miller. Anyhow, which part do you play?"

Crowther's grin stretched. "John Proctor."

There was general awe in the room, especially from Hector who applauded once again. "A field trip to watch young Crowther play this turbulent, steadfast, extraordinary character…Someone must pass the message onto our dear _dictionary person_…where is he today?"

Scripps started as all eyes suddenly turned to him. He had not been paying attention to the performance, nor to Crowther's moment of fame. Instead, he had been staring so hard at the back of David Posner's empty chair that he was surprised it bore no mark. He had been pondering this when he was suddenly thrust onto centre stage in the classroom.

"Erm…" Scripps' eyes finally met Hector's, who was looking at him curiously. "What?" he said, stupidly.

"Where is dear Posner, do you know?" Hector repeated patiently, head to one side. "Are you quite alright, Scripps?"

"Erm…I don't know." He coughed. "Yeah, I'm-fine, sir."

Hector frowned as the bell rang, signalling the end of the day. Eyebrows raising, it was clear that he did not swallow Scripps' lie. "It must be your turn for a lift on the motorbike today," he said, with a smile as if offering him a great treat. Scripps' stomach jarred unpleasantly. Oh no. Not today.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, too distracted to be anything but compliant. Hector beamed, satisfied, as he picked up his bag and left the classroom, beginning to don his leather jacket.

"Whoop whoop!" Dakin's handsome face suddenly loomed into view, startling Scripps, whose chest constricted agonisingly at the sight of him. Now feeling rather sick, Scripps forced himself to smile ordinarily at Dakin, as if his presence didn't fill him with rage. "Ooooh, your turn on the feel-mobile!" Dakin was saying childishly. "Mate-remember to put your bag between you and the big guy!"

"I'll remember," Scripps said, trying to sound as if his jaw was unclenched. He stared at Dakin's devilishly striking looks, trying to quell the flames of furious agony in his chest.

"Do yourself a favour and try not to get a hard-on." Dakin ruffled his hair before slinging his bag over his shoulder and swanning in blissful confidence from the room. Scripps stared after him, wondering how he could be so relaxed with the weight of whatever he had done to David on his mind. Maybe he didn't feel it, didn't understand. Scripps almost envied his self-obsessed indifference.

Where was David? Why hadn't he come to school today? Scripps wondered on account of whom David was absent-Dakin's actions, or his own. The former filled him with anger-the latter with dread.

* * *

Clinging unwillingly to his teacher, Scripps' nostrils were filled with the smell of leather, the back of his neck being whipped mercilessly by the wind as they sped along. Schoolbag clamped firmly between his front and Hector's back, his only shield, Scripps endured the vibration of the road, gripping tightly for dear life. As the world raced by, Scripps gritted his teeth, praying to God that the traffic lights would be in his favour and they would not have to stop. If they did, there would be no stopping the old man.

Sure enough, like most of Scripps' prayers, it went unanswered. Hector slowed to a standstill as the red light displayed. Scripps rolled his eyes long-sufferingly as the anticipated hand reached around towards him. He habitually recoiled as much as he could without letting go of Hector's shoulders. Luckily, the bag prevented Hector's grasping fingers from reaching his genitals. Sighing, Scripps hated his life. He had barely slept since his last meeting with David, he had not stopped loathing himself, the suppression of all he was feeling destroying him from within-and now he was dodging the grasp of his predatory schoolteacher on the back of a motorbike.

_Had David worked out his secret? _

Finally, the green light signalled, and the motorbike roared off.

He had to know. He couldn't live like this.

"Mr Hector?" Scripps shouted, over the deafening thundering of the motorbike. "Mr Hector?"

"Yes?" Hector shouted back, sounding slightly put-out. Conversations were rarely held on the bike.

"Can you-" Scripps paused, swallowing hard. He knew he would regret this. "Can you drop me off on Milton Rise? It's not far, sir. Sorry to ask," he added. "There's something I need to do!"

* * *

Finally, the motorbike roared to a halt on the corner which lead onto Milton Rise. It was not a particularly attractive street, with pale brick terraced houses and cracked pavements. But to Scripps, knowing who lived there, the plainness became beauty in his eyes and caused stirrings in the bottom of his stomach as if he were about to walk onto a stage. Scripps scanned the houses, working out on which side of the street number 18 would be.

"Is this the place, Scipps?" Hector asked, removing his helmet and steadying the bike with a foot on the kerb.

"Perfect, sir." Scripps began to scramble off the bike, clutching his bag like a life jacket. "Thank you for the lift."

"You are most welcome." Hector smiled at Scripps in his usual way-but there was a searching look in his eyes. "Are you sure you are quite alright, my boy? You have had a troubled look about you recently." He tilted his head to one side again, concerned. Scripps marvelled at how he could switch from attempting to fondle his genitals on a fast bike to caring immensely about his welfare.

"N-no, sir," he answered, far too quickly. Hector frowned.

"It's not this infernal Oxbridge fixation, is it?"

"No sir, nothing like that."

"So there _is_ something." Hector grinned triumphantly.

Scripps tutted good-naturedly. "You've caught me, sir," he said, smiling weakly. "Too smart for me."

"Not at all, dear boy-I am a mere _Sheffield_-educated mortal." He grinned satirically, then sighed fondly. "Whatever is the matter?"

Scripps shrugged vaguely; he was _not_ about to discuss David with _Mr Hector_-of all people. The excitement would probably make him keel over. "Nothing that can be remedied…"

"Come now, that can't be true." Hector leaned closer, still softly smiling. "A problem shared is a problem doubled."

Scripps snorted. He looked into his teacher's eyes, the bright eagerness mixed with a worldly wisdom that Scripps did not understand. He had never thought of Hector as being a human being, with his own life and loves and experiences beyond the pages of books. Sighing, he realised how much he would miss the old man once he went to university. "…Well…I guess I'm having some problems with…" He chose his words carefully. "…feelings for another…person…"

Hector's eyes lit up with excitement. "I knew it! I knew it!" he said gleefully. "I'd know that look anywhere."

Instantly, Scripps was embarrassed. "Look, sir, you'll forget we had this conversation, right?"

"Of course, of course, my dear boy-my lips are sealed." Hector looked as though Christmas had come early. "So-are these feelings requited?"

Slowly, Scripps shook his head, feeling immensely awkward. "No."

If anything, Hector looked even more pleased. "It is a pain we all must bear at some point in our lives-dear, dear! To be young…Well, Scripps, now is the perfect time to use that pain to do some _real writing_. It is your ambition to be a journalist, right? Why not use words-compose poetry? After all, as a great man once said-"

Scripps involuntarily sniffed.

Hector backed up. "I'm so sorry, Scripps, I got carried away…ignore this foolish old teacher."

"It's okay, sir. I know what you mean."

"But Scripps-" Hector did not seem keen to let him go. "Do you know for sure it is unrequited?"

Scripps swallowed hard. "I'm ninety-nine per cent sure."

"But it is that one per cent that grieves you so?" Hector nodded knowingly. "It is that tiny portion of hope that tortures a person in your predicament…"

"Sort of…" Scripps took a deep breath, knowing he was going to regret this. But it felt so good to talk to_ someone_. "Well…this person sort of…loves someone else."

"Ah, I see!" Hector clapped his hands.

"But the other person is just so cold, and horrible to them, and just recently they've really, really hurt the person I…well… but I don't know what's happened, they won't tell me, and now I don't know what to do because I think I might have accidently made it clear that I have feelings for them and I think that might have freaked them out and now I feel so bad because they have no one to talk to- they are my best friend and I should be there for them to talk to about whatever the person they love has done to them but they can't and it's so hard and I'm hurting so much because _they _are hurting and that kills me and I think I've royally fucked up, sir. I'm terrified I've lost them for good." Scripps took several breaths, before realising how he had gabbled. Feeling his cheeks flush, he said quickly: "I'm sorry, sir." He was mortified.

Hector put his head to the other side. He didn't look bothered by Scripps' outburst. Instead, he looked once again at the sign at the side of the road, _Milton Rise_. He frowned musingly. A few silent, agonising moments passed. "…Milton Rise…" Hector mumbled. "Why is that familiar…?" He looked up at Scripps. "To paraphrase _My Fair Lady_, is this the street where said person lives?"

Scripps nodded. "I've come to see if there is anything I can do for them."

"_Milton Rise_…" Suddenly, Mr Hector's eyes widened, mouth hanging slightly open. "I know. I've written it on an envelope home before now. One of _us _lives here…"

Fear gripped Scripps, like ice in his heart. _Oh no_. "It's not-it's not one of-it's not anyone from-?" But he knew his lies were transparent.

Hector feigned innocence. "I was _not_ suggesting that one of your classmates was the object of your affections." He pretended to look incredulous-but a wicked grin gave him away. The old man looked as though he had won the lottery.

"No-not-sir!" Scripps stammered, terrified.

"Oh, not to worry, my dear, dear Scripps!" Hector beamed openly, eyes twinkling like stars. "Your secret is quite safe with me!" His tone suddenly became enraptured, hypnotic. "_To love another is something like prayer and cannot be planned. You just fall into its arms, because your belief undoes your disbelief_…"

Scripps blinked. "That was beautiful, sir…"

"Anne Sexton, my boy." Hector put a hand on Scripps' shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes. "I will say no more, Scripps. Just take care of yourself, yes?"

"Thank you, sir," Scripps smiled gratefully. "And please-"

"My lips are sealed." Hector was putting his helmet. "Now, fair you well on your noble quest. I shall see you tomorrow."

"Thank you." Scripps said again, pathetically.

"Goodbye, Scripps." The bike revved, and too soon was gone, leaving Scripps wondering. That had been one of the most surreal conversations of his life. He felt that he had entered another realm-one of insanity.

Quickly, he gathered himself, and put the previous conversation out of his mind as he hurried along the pavement to number 18, Anne Sexton's words ringing in his head. They filled him with a sort of courage as he rapped on the blue front door before he could stop himself. Nervously, he waited. He felt slightly sick, half-dreading the sight of David-or how David would regard him.

There was a long pause, before the door finally opened-to reveal a middle-aged woman with greying curly hair. "Hello?" she asked, her eyes kind. Scripps could pick out David in her voice, and those eyes. She had to be his mother.

"Mrs Posner?" he asked, anxiously.

"Yes?" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Yes, I'm-I'm Donald Scripps. A friend of David's from school."

"Oh!" David's mother smiled warmly in recognition. "Yes, the pianist David sings with. I remember."

"Yes." Scripps coughed slightly. "I was wondering –as David wasn't in school today-erm…where he was…?" His voice trailed off pathetically.

"David isn't very well, I'm afraid," she answered apologetically. "I decided to keep him off. It's all this pressure I think-it's affecting his health…"

"Oh no." Scripps was torn between worry-if David was ill, he wanted to run to him and comfort him-and suspicion. Could this be an excuse? "Would it be okay to see him? It won't take long," he rushed.

Mrs Posner looked slightly taken aback-but she still smiled. "I'll just pop up to him and see how he is feeling. I'm sure he'll appreciate you coming, dear."

"I hope so." Scripps said sincerely. "Thank you so much."

"No problem." Mrs Posner smiled again as she left him on the doorstep. Scripps waited apprehensively. He heard the sound of fee on stairs, and then a door being opened.

"Mum?"

Scripps' heart leapt at the faint sound of David's voice. It at least tripled his nerves.

"How are you feeling. Oh, you do look pale, darling."

"I'm…coping."

"Well, I came up to tell you one of your friends is here to see you. I wondered if you were up to seeing him."

There was a pause. "Who?"

"Donald, he said. Donald _Scripps_, was it?"

Another agonising pause. Then, in a very different, misty voice: "Erm…I don't think I can see him. I feel really…I don't think it's a good idea for me to see anyone right now."

Scripps felt as if all his internal organs had fallen out onto the floor.

"Oh really, dear? He's come all this way. He's obviously a nice boy. He seems very worried about you."

"Yes. He's a wonderful friend…"

All of Scripps' organs miraculously fell back into place.

"…but tell him I'll see him tomorrow. I don't think I can face anyone at the moment. Tell him we will talk tomorrow…please."

"Okay, darling. I'll go and tell him. I'll bring you up a glass of milk too, yes?"

"Mum, I don't want milk-" David sounded annoyed.

"It's good for you. It makes you stronger, darling." Mrs Posner said firmly. "I'll be right back."

Scripps did not know how to feel as he heard her footsteps on the stairs once again. On the one hand…they were to talk tomorrow. On the other…

"I'm sorry, dear, but David's really not feeling up to it." Mrs Posner punctured his thoughts as she re-appeared.

"Oh, really?" Scripps quickly arranged his face into a look of surprise and concern, as if he hadn't heard.

"But you'll see him tomorrow in school, dear, if he's well enough." Mrs Posner's head fell to one side, much like Hector's. "Are you alright, dear?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Thank you so much. Tell David I hope he gets better soon."

After they had said goodbye, Scripps stood for a few moments silently on the doorstep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello everyone. Thank you so much for reading-next chapter will be posted soon. Also a massive thank you for all your reviewing and following-I appreciate it so much. I'm so happy to be here, with people who love _The History Boys_ as I do. Big love to you all xxx**

**PS: I apologise for the French in this chapter! I'm very, very rusty! In addition-I own nothing! :') **

"Good morning, good morning!" Mr Hector boomed, throwing open the door to admit the assembled boys, who shivered and clutched raincoats and umbrellas. "Good morning! _Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven_!"

"_Cymbeline_, sir," Akthar answered the question which did not need to be asked.

"Trés bon, Akthar." Mr Hector beamed even more broadly than usual as the class filed in.

"Il pleut des cordes!" Timms pointed at the window, on which rain lashed, making slug trails on the glass. As if on cue, thunder sounded in the distance, a low rumble on the horizon. "Il fait mauvais!" he shouted, laughing as if Hector was completely mad. Hector himself simply shook his head, a knowing smile on his lips.

"Non-sens, mes enfants-le temps est beau! Sophisme pathétique! Exemples, exemples!" The teacher waved a hand expectantly as the class began to sit, carefully locking the door behind them.

"Les Grandes Espérances!" Lockwood called, throwing off his mac and showing Timms with rain water.

"Le Prométhée Moderne!" Timms clouted Lockwood hard upon the head for his injury.

"Le Roi Lear!" Crowther added.

"Les Hauts de Hurlevent." Scripps said quietly from his seat.

"Ah, bien fait!" Hector grinned down at Scripps, giving the slightest of winks, which made his skin crawl-he had almost forgotten their conversation yesterday. "Les Hauts de Hurlevent! Le amour interdit! Et le amour obsessionnel..."

Scripps shrunk slightly in his seat, feeling his cheeks burn. He was put at great unease by the twinkle in Mr Hector's eye when he looked at him, as if they had some great shared secret. He supposed they did-but being reminded of it sent an uncomfortable lunge through his body. There was a great emptiness in his chest. David Posner's second day of absence, rather than evoking the same dread as the first, merely induced a horrible sense of anticipation and anti-climax. He had barely slept-partly because Lily's poor broken wrist had been hurting on and off. Scripps wondered if anyone else in the class had to put up with six-year-olds tapping on their bedroom door at un-Godly hours. She found it difficult to sleep with the cast on. Instead of bothering their parents, she granted Scripps the highest honour of being her first port of call. Whenever he was not up with Lily, he had lain awake in bed, thoughts of David running through his mind as he had tried desperately to prepare what on Earth he was to say to him today. Having arrived at school, heart racing, with nothing in mind, he had been both exasperated and relieved to find no sign of David.

It was impossible to gauge. Scripps prayed with all his might that David had not unearthed his secret-then it was just a question of comforting the boy regarding Dakin. But if David had realised Scripps was in love with him…?

Wait. _In love with him_?

That was ridiculous. Scripps felt himself physically shake. Of course he wasn't in _love _with David. How could he be? The idea was ludicrous.

Suddenly, someone tapped on the glass of the locked door.

"Attends. Quelqu-un frappe á ma porte!" Mr Hector cocked his ear comically. "Lockwood-ouvrir lui, s'il vous plaît!"

Begrudgingly, Lockwood got to his feet, abandoning the small ruler war he and Timms were conducting under the desk, and made his way across the classroom. He jimmied the lock, and the door swung open-to reveal a small, slim boy with soaking wet hair.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Mr Hector, I-" not t

Hector put a finger to his lips, which were stretching into a satisfied smile. "Ici on ne parle que français!" he said in a sing-song voice. David smiled, relieved to clearly have escaped trouble. Meanwhile, Scripps merely stared at him. Here was David-David, sopping wet, his hair gloriously windswept-and smiling. The sight of him made Scripps' heart start to turn lazy somersaults in his chest, the warm glow spreading through his body...For a few glorious moments, Scripps forgot everything.

"Oh! Je veuillez m'excuser de mon retard!" David was saying to Hector.

"Pas de problème," Hector indicated the chair nearest to Scripps. "Asseyez-vous, mon enfant!"

"Oh, Dakin!" Timms suddenly called, his voice in a comical falsetto. "Dakin, mon cher? Voici ton femme!"

"_Fuck off_." Dakin hissed from the back of the classroom, as Timms and Rudge giggled. David ignored them, walking quickly to where Hector had motioned without reaction or comment.

Scripps' heart went into double time as David collapsed into the seat next to him, looking exhausted. He marvelled at how David's mere presence could have this much effect upon him. As usual, he felt physically drawn to him, wanting nothing more than to hold him close, safe and warm. It was almost too excruciating to bear.

"Hey." Scripps whispered as David finally composed himself. He looked up, slightly surprised.

"Oh-hi, Scripps." David gave him a wan smile, removing his raincoat and slinging it over the back of his chair-splattering Scripps with droplets in the process. "Oh!" he squeaked again. "I'm sorry!"

"It's fine," Scripps couldn't care less. "Listen-how are you?"

David made a non-committal noise. "Better than Saturday!"

"That's good." Scripps smiled. David appeared to be regarding him perfectly normally. "I'm glad to hear it."

"I'm really sorry for just running off like that." David whispered. "How is Lily?"

"She's coping." Relief was cascading through Scripps' veins. "I can't thank you enough for your help."

"It's no-"

"Ahem!" Mr Hector's voice suddenly cut through their conversation. "L'Anglais, c'est interdit!"

"Talk to you at break." Scripps murmured, to which David nodded once.

After rushing through hurried apologies in French, Scripps paid no attention to Hector-nor anyone else in the classroom for the next quarter of an hour. Knowing his secret was safe-that he had not lost David-filled him with such joy. However, it was bitter. This silence, this restraint…Scripps wondered if it would almost have been better to have David know, so that there would be no secrets. Propped up on one elbow, Scripps tried not to stare at David, who was working quietly, writing in his battered notebook. It was immensely difficult-the gravitational force between them was so compelling. His small left hand lying idle on the desk was tantalisingly inviting. Scripps longed to take it, to fit his hand into his own larger one, to connect. Even to touch it, to trace the maze of lines and veins Scripps had memorized that night after Dakin's party, when he had held vigil over the sleeping David for those precious hours…

Suddenly, the crackle of paper interrupted Scripps' thoughts. A piece of lined paper, folded many times had been pushed onto his desk. Written on the front, in familiar blue handwriting, was simply the word_ Scripps. _It was addressed to him. Scripps chanced a look at the author of the note, who was deliberately not looking at him. Frowning, slightly bewildered, Scripps unfolded the note, his hands trembling slightly.

_Dear Scrippsy. _

_I'm sorry-I couldn't wait to talk to you. I need to say a few things, and if I don't say them now, I think I should burst. I hope you will understand. Keep this hidden-I wouldn't want the whole class to know. _

_Firstly-I'm sorry for shouting at you this weekend, I truly am. It was not your fault in the slightest. I was so upset because of what had happened between Dakin and I. Oh Scrippsy, he was so harsh and cold. It was quite frightening. He was selfish and, frankly, an arse to me-and to you. But I shouted back at him. I told him I hated being the class joke, like you always said I should. You were right-I do feel better for saying it. Worse in many ways-he wouldn't even look at me when I came in just now. But better in many others. _

_I was just reeling with the shock of it when I met you, and consequently stormed off. I feel terribly guilty. I hope you can forgive me?_

_Secondly-you may have noticed that I called Dakin an arse in the previous paragraph. This is because I'm starting to think-maybe he is. A bit. Oh, I don't know. But when he was so cold on Saturday-it was like I was breaking through a veil to see the real Dakin for the first time. Before Saturday, Dakin was perfect to me. But since Saturday, it's like the glass somehow shattered, and I could see him clearly. It made me wonder if I had somehow invented my perfect Dakin in my head- and I couldn't see the real Dakin before me. Or choose not to (see how deeply I have been thinking!). Anyway, to conclude, after many hours pondering this, I wonder whether I have been a complete fool regarding the whole Dakin business. _

_I'm so confused, Scrippsy. Maybe I still love him-but maybe...I don't know._

_Thirdly-what you said at the hospital before I left about how you would protect me. I can safely say that I think you got a little theatrical! Perhaps it was the high drama of the day. But I just wanted to say thank you. I do appreciate you so much, Scripps. You are always so good to me, so kind and understanding. I couldn't ask for a better friend. And, as your friend, I wanted to say that you need not worry. Dakin make me feel so weak-but now I feel stronger. I think I can handle Dakin._

_Finally-You. I'm sorry, Scrippsy, but you haven't seemed yourself recently. I wanted to tell you that I am always here to help you just as much as you are here to help me! We can lean on one another-it's better that way. So if you need anything at all, you can always come to me, I promise. I'd drop everything for you just like you do for me. _

_Chin up, Scrippsy. And thank you, once again. From Your Poz xxx_

Scripps read the note twice through, breathing heavily, before turning it over. His hand shook as he wrote back, palms moist.

_Dear Poz,_

_Firstly-no worries, seriously. It's fine, I completely understand. I don't blame you. I hope you're okay now._

_Secondly-I cannot tell you how goo that is to hear. This sounds like a fresh start for you, mate. I think you might be right. You don't have to make up your mind-no one is rushing you. Take your time, and don't stress. Everything will turn out the way it is supposed to._

_Thirdly-I must apologise for my own outburst! It was probably unnecessarily dramatic…but I'm glad the sentiment got through. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me. _

_And lastly- Don't worry about me, mate. You just take care of yourself. I'm absolutely fine-probably just tired! _

_Nice to have you back. Always, Your Scrippsy. _

Scripps passed the note along before he could stop himself. It hurt him to lie to David-but not as much as the truth would. Besides-how could he convey everything onto a scrap of paper?

David' letter had both relieved and grieved him. To know that he was perhaps finally getting over Dakin filled him with elation-and a tiny beacon of hope had flared without his permission in his chest. But David remained oblivious to his feelings…Scripps could not understand how he could feel all of this for him…and he feel nothing…even if David did get over Dakin, there was no way he could tell him his heart, or make any of his feelings known. The very thought terrified him.

Breathing in hard through his nose, Scripps concentrated on the joy he felt at David's improved state. After all-what truly mattered but David's happiness and their friendship? Scripps could live through David's contentment, could find his own reasons to rejoice in David's…

He sighed heavily. Sadness and longing sat like immovable, jagged rocks in his heart.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey everyone. Thank you so much for reading. I hope you are all well and happy. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I will update soon. xxx**

Donald Scripps and David Posner strolled together through the corridors in the direction of the din audible from the canteen half-way across the school. Because of the storm, every pupil remained inside, which saved Scripps the playground duty he would have had to undertake. The rain lashed mercilessly at the windows-Fiona's blouse was rather damp, to the great approval of most of the boys, who seemed to be finding every excuse to bypass the Headmaster's office, staring through the window like tourists at a zoo. But they could have been in the middle of a hurricane for all Scripps cared-nothing could dampen his spirits.

Rather than spending their mutual free period studying, Scripps and David had snuck into the empty music classroom. After he had picked the lock on the lid of the piano open and consolidated his thick folder of sheet music, for one glorious hour Scripps played while David sang. Anything David wanted, from musical theatre to jazz and folk, Scripps picked out on the yellowing keys, making more mistakes than normal as the sound of David's voice stole him away from reality. Sometimes he sang along quietly, but mostly he just listened, distinctly aware of David standing behind him, sometimes leaning in close over his shoulder to check the lyrics. Scripps wished he would linger there longer.

When they were not playing, they talked. Not about Dakin. Not about anything in particular. As the rain hammered at the window, making trails down the window, they simply talked. Mostly David talked, while Scripps listened contentedly. He loved hearing the wonderings of David's mind, collecting precious details like butterflies in glass jars and storing them away safely in his mind. David's favourite songs, the places he liked, the places he wanted to go, by what means he had burned his hand when he was seven, how the word "popcorn" made him think of slippers for some reason…Everything seemed of great importance.

"I'm sorry, Scrippsy, I feel like I've done nothing but talk!" David's voice broke into his thoughts. "You must be sick of the sound of my voice!"

_How could I ever be?_ "Not at all," Scripps assured him, half amused. "Not at all."

As they entered the canteen, the noise levels rising dramatically, Scripps joined the line for lunch behind David, feeling like his feet had not touched the ground. He loved the simplicity of this-just talking with David about everything and nothing, just relaxing together, singing and playing. He wished every day was like this. No tension, no shadow of Dakin looming over David, no faint sadness in his eyes. Just the two of them.

As he received his tray of rubbery pasta and congealed sauce with thanks, he thanked God silently for this precious time with David, for David's new clarity and happiness. As he looked up and saw David waiting for him, holding his own tray and smiling shyly, he felt like the luckiest person in the word.

"Dakin? Yoohoo, Dakin?" came a high-pitched, mocking voice from the crowded lunch table they approached. "Dakin, mon petit poulet?"

Sluggishly, Dakin looked up from his plate of pasta, looking furiously at Timms as Scripps and David sat down with their trays. "Regardez!" Timms was saying, a huge, smug smile on his face, pointing at David. "Voici ton femme! Ton femme, Dakin!" he declared, snorting.

"_Fuck off_!" Dakin snapped, with even less patience than usual as the rest of the boys howled with laughter. Scripps caught David's eye and smiled empathetically.

"Ton poulet est fâché!" Lockwood was telling Timms.

"Je m'en fous," Timms said, shrugging-then cackling again. "Il est la maladie d'amour!"

Scripps half-listened to Dakin's colourfully phrased reply, which would have made his vicar weep. He found he had no interest in lunch, half-heartedly stirring his food with the plastic fork. However, to his delight, he watched David eat hungrily, as if he was starving. He tried to remember the last time he had seen David eat so enthusiastically. Epiphanies must be exhausting, Scripps thought proudly as David ignored Dakin and merely snickered at Timms' teasing-so different to his mortification at the start of the joke. The _difference_ in David-how relaxed his shoulders were, how he breathed with ease!

Timms' lips were puckered now, as he kissed the air beside Dakin's cheek. "_Embrasse moi, je te desire_…" he murmured sexily, making wet, slurping noises. He rubbed his hands across his chest, giving a carnal groan. "_Oh, oh, oh, Posner, ma chérie_!" he growled in a low voice, before switching to a simpering falsetto to exclaim: "_Oh, oh oh, Dakin, mon mari_!"

Rudge snorted his Coke out of his nose as Timms joined in the rapturous laughter that followed his lastest display. "I genuinely hate all of you." said Dakin, his voice monotonous, eyes so cold he seemed almost serious.

"_Ooooooh_!" Timms squealed, holding his hands up, face now slightly red from laughing. "Posner, ton mari est grincheux!"

David glanced up, his smile stretching lazily across his face. That miraculous dimple glowed upon his cheek, making Scripps' heart silently melt. "Je veux un divorce." David was saying, lightly.

Timms' hands slammed on the table, his mouth hanging open with shock. "_NON_!" he shouted, so loud that several tables around them turned to stare. The other boys gawped at Posner-who simply smiled again, looking directly at Dakin, who regarded him with narrowed eyes. "Je veux un divorce," he repeated. "Bon débarras, mon cher!"

"UN DIVORCE!" Timms cried, looking scandalised. He looked at if his world had just shattered. "UN DIVORCE?"

"Oh mon Dieu!" Lockwood added, eyes bulging, looking unsure whether to laugh or cry. The suspicious Dakin kept looking sideways at David, as if trying to work out his game. David, on the other hand, looked around serenely, enjoying the upper-hand he so rarely achieved, taking another mouthful of pasta and sauce. Scripps merely gawped at him, full of admiration. He felt himself deliriously falling for him all over again.

"Que dire des enfants?" Timms was saying in horror.

"Les enfants?" Dakin spluttered, breaking his silence. A forkful of pasta was half-way to his mouth, floating in mid-air.

"Oui, vos enfants! Les enfants _juives_!" Timms banged his fist on the table in frustration.

"Les enfants juives? Again?" said a voice from above. Eight heads snapped up to see Irwin standing over them, his eagerness carefully masked by a raised eyebrow and sarcastic tone. He looked over the boys. Looking as if he dreaded what he would hear, he turned to Timms. "Dare I ask-what on Earth has happened now?"

Timms looked up at him, eyes wide, looking like a character from a Shakespearian tragedy. "Posner just told Dakin he wants a divorce!" he said thickly, as if they were his own parents.

Irwin stared for a moment-then an uncertain laugh bubbled out of him. "What?"

"I know! I'm as saddened and appalled as you are, sir!" Timms groaned, a hand flying to his forehead.

Irwin looked at David, who was calmly taking a drink of water. "This must be one of the shortest-lived marriages on record…"

"It's not that unusual, sir!" Dakin said suddenly, his voice much louder than usual, eyes wide, almost begging for Irwin's attention. "Ernest Borgnine and Ethel Merman were only married for four weeks!"

Irwin laughed. "Oh dear, oh dear-you boys!"

"Don't say "you boys!" like that, sir!" Dakin retorted, still keen to capture Irwin's interest, like a hungry spaniel. "Makes it sound like we're more than about five minutes younger than you!"

Irwin raised his eyebrow again. "Dakin, I can see that the trauma of your separation has addled your brains. You seem to think that treating me as a comrade will distract me from the fact that you failed to hand in your essay this morning."

A loud "_Ooooooh_!" issued from the table as the other boys delighted in Dakin's embarrassment. Irwin looked pleased with himself, as Dakin's cheeks were tickled pink. "It will be on my desk by the end of the day, Dakin. You mustn't expect this leniency from Oxford!"

"Have a heart, sir." Scripps piped up, grinning smugly at Dakin. Suddenly, Scripps felt a lot more warmly towards him than he had done in a long time. "He's just lost his wife."

"My fucking _wife_." Dakin hissed, folding his arms. He looked daggers at Irwin-who ignored him.

"And he and Posner's children are caught in the middle!" Timms was lamenting. Scripps marvelled at how he kept a straight face. "Oh, they're like poor little sheep that have lost their way! Where will they go, sir?" Timms wailed, appealing to Irwin. "What will they do, sir?"

Irwin chuckled, looking slightly taken-aback. "Which brings me onto my second point Dakin, Posner-between getting engaged and married-and I still want to know why_ I_ wasn't on the guest list-how on _Earth_ did you make time to have children?"

"_That's_ the problem with Dakin and Posner having children together, sir?" Akthar exclaimed, shaking his head at the madness he was experiencing. "Not _how _the children came about in the first place-but how they fit it into their _schedules_? Didn't you take biology, sir?"

This debate continued as Scripps lost himself deep in thought. He kept glancing at David. He seemed more drawn to him than ever, so compelling that Scripps wondered if it would physically hurt to be apart from him. He thought about that night at Dakin's again, carrying him up the stairs, lying next to him for those treasured hours…then of today, in the music room, simply being themselves. The time he spent alone with David stuck more firmly in his mind than anything he had ever experienced before, even the times before he had realised all David truly meant to him.

A small, daring part of Scripps' brain wondered if it was worth risking those times for a shot at _truly _being with David…

A small shock passed through him, like an electric current. He had never fully allowed himself to consider this possibility before. Could he…did he dare…?

No. It was hopeless. David would never see him in that way. He had never given any indication that he liked him, or found him attractive at all. Despite what those ghastly mothers had behaved like, Scripps did not consider himself attractive at all-especially if David's tastes were closer to the movie-star looks of Dakin…Scripps felt strange, wondering whether he was _handsome _enough to be liked by David. Looks shouldn't matter. But Scripps wondered if, when it came to it, they did. He had such little experience of this. Aside from holding hands with one or two girls and a few kisses at parties, Scripps was ignorant of the world of relationships.

Their close friendship was exactly that. He was sure he didn't have a chance with David-and telling him how he truly felt could jeopardise the friendship he held so dear…but would he regret _not_ trying more?

Could he risk his current relationship with David? Was he willing to stand whatever David made of his confessions? What if David was freaked out? Scripps certainly was. This whole business terrified him more than he cared to admit.

As he watched David laughing softly at something Irwin said, eyes shining, Scripps wondered.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey everyone :') Sorry so much for the delay updating-I have been so busy. Thank you so much for sticking with me, and for reviewing and following-and reading :') I hope you are all well, enjoy! More soon xxx**

"'Scuse!" A small boy attempted to dash past Posner in the corridor-crashing sidelong into him like a tawny-haired torpedo in the process. Letting out a small "Oh!", the pile of books Posner had been clutching to his chest spilled out of his arms and onto the floor.

"Awh, shit!" The boy stopped, turning on one heel. He glanced at the books on the floor as Posner bent down. "I did say 'scuse!" Giggling uncertainly, he dashed off towards the canteen.

Posner sighed heavily. He knew that if it had been any one of his taller, more intimidating classmates, that boy would have respectfully apologised. As it was, Posner was willing to bet he didn't look much older than that boy, especially in uniform. Pushing his lips firmly together, he began to scoop up the dropped books as he cursed his parents' genes yet again. Why couldn't he have been a few inches taller, a little bit broader? It would make life so much more-

"Hey!"

Suddenly, as if out of thin air, Scripps appeared at the other end of the hallway. Despite the dull weather, he had abandoned his blazer, and had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, strong forearms exposed. Posner noticed a radiant smile break over his face as he drew nearer, eyes bright. "Poz! What are you doing down there?"

"Hey, Scrippsy." Posner grinned weakly from his position kneeling on the floor. He noted Scripps' apparent good mood with pleasure. "Some kid knocked me."

"Oh-let me help you with that!" With astonishing speed, Scripps swooped down and began to collect Posner's books into a pile. Abandoning the protest his lips had been forming, Posner simply watched as Scripps retrieved the books. The pile of books under his arm grew quickly in his eagerness to help, and before Posner knew it, he was standing, books balanced neatly under one arm as he chivalrously held out his other hand to help Posner to his feet.

"Oh-thanks!" Posner, slightly surprised, took the hand.

"No problem." Scripps said kindly, his eyes shining as he gently, but firmly, pulled Posner up. "Here, are you going to the library now?"

"Er-yeah. If my arms don't break on the way!" Posner gestured to the books, still in Scripps' strong arms.

"Here-let me help you out. I'm going there anyway. Can't have more arms broken!" With dexterity, Scripps divided the books between them. Posner noticed that he had kept hold of all the heaviest books as he adjusted the much lighter load in his arms. "Come on then." Scripps smiled again, before setting off towards the library.

Posner followed, feeling distinctly happier. Scripps was clearly in a wonderful mood-something he hadn't seen for quite some time. Everything always seemed nicer when Scripps was smiling-his features emitted a sort of glow, as if he wasn't just happy in himself, but wanted the world to be happy too. There was not a selfish bone in Scripps' body-he emanated an aura of safety and warmth, as if he was taking care of you simply by being with you. Posner loved the pleasure he got from helping others-it was inspirational. "How is Lily's poor wrist?" he said conversationally.

"Oh-she's the centre of attention at primary-I think half the school have signed her cast!" Scripps said cheerfully. "Maisie always talks about you, you know?"

"Really?" Posner asked, surprised.

"Yeah, it's all "_Is David this?…Does David like that?…_"" Scripps smiled fondly. "She's fascinated by you."

"Oh!" Posner felt a little awkward, but not unpleasantly so. He had liked Scripps' sisters-such nice little girls. "You look after them a lot, don't you?"

"Yeah." Scripps pushed the library door open with his back, and held it open for Posner to pass through in front of him. "Both parents work quite a bit, you see. But it's never quiet at home with those two! Well, here we go." Scripps carefully put the pile of books down on Posner's favourite desk, next to the window. "Enjoy studying!"

"Thank you." Posner pulled out the wooden chair and sat down, adding his own books to the pile. "Are you studying in your free too? Come keep me company," he offered.

"I'd love to-but can't." Scripps smiled sadly. "I'm helping out in a first-year English lesson. Mrs Dyer said there's a boy that needs some attention, but she can't help him as much as he needs as well as teaching the rest of the class. Poor kid has a lot of trouble reading…"

Posner blinked. "And you just said you'd help?"

"Yeah," Scripps frowned slightly, still smiling. "I had a free-and I like Mrs Dyer. She lent me _Paradise Lost_."

Posner felt another surge of warmth towards his friend. "Wow…"

"He's embarrassed, Mrs Dyer says-think the other boys give him a hard time about being slow." Scripps was saying, stretching. "so she thought having a sixth former to sort of mentor him would be beneficial."

"Yeah…" Posner agreed, slightly distracted. He had never noticed the slight but defined muscles in Scripps' arms, softly visible against the white fabric of his school shirt. They must have been a recent addition to his physique…Posner liked the way he talked with his hands, so expressively, just like the way he played piano…

"…just to give him some confidence, you know? I think that's all it is, really." Scripps stopped abruptly. Posner jumped-he realised he hadn't been listening to Scripps so much as watching him talk. He shook his head slightly.

"Yeah-that sounds great," he said, finding his voice. "Well-good luck. Hope it goes well."

"Thanks." Scripps grinned. "See you at lunchtime."

And with that, Scripps was gone, leaving Posner alone.

* * *

As Scripps walked away from the library, his spirit was soaring. Making his way towards the English classrooms at the other end of the school, he wished he could have stayed with David in the library for the next hour. But he'd made a commitment to Mrs Dyer, and to this boy. Dutifully, he made his way through the corridors, concentrating on the walk so little that his bag crashed repeatedly into the walls. He knew his notebook would be getting bent, but found he did not care. Trying to remember details of _Lord of the Flies_, the book he had studied in first year English, he turned the final corner.

"Ah, Scripps!" Mr Hector had appeared, at the door to his own classroom. His hand had been on the door knob, but he let it go and approached Scripps. _Oh God_.

"Good morning, sir." Scripps forced a smile for the old man, eyes flicking to his destination across the hall and round the corner, trying to non-verbally tell him that he was in a hurry.

"Good morning, my _dear_ boy." Mr Hector's eyes were wide as he talked to him as if speaking to a dear friend recovering from a serious illness. "How are you today?" he asked delicately.

"I'm fine, sir, just fine." Scripps said, trying desperately to avoid the conversation he knew was coming.

"Ah, a brave soul!" Mr Hector's hands were clasped behind his back. "_Sat like patience on a monument, smiling at grief_…."

"I'm_ fine_, sir." Scripps said again, more firmly. "Excuse me, I have to get to-"

"Aren't you going to tell me where the quotation was from?" There was a twinkle in Hector's eye. "Or will you disappoint me?"

"_Twelfth Night_, sir. Easy." Scripps forced another smile, wondering how on Earth he could escape this.

"Well done, boy." Mr Hector looked pleased. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a class of young minds to mould…" He put his hand back on the door handle and twisted it. "But if you need to talk at all, Scripps…" he added, with concern.

"Yes, sir. Thank you sir." Scripps rushed awkwardly, wondering if there was anything he would not do to avoid talking about his feelings for David Posner to_ Hector_. The old teacher seemed determined to hear about it.

"Good, very good…Goodbye, Scripps."

Finally, Hector had disappeared into his classroom. Scripps breathed a heavy sigh of relief, leaning against a display board on the wall. How simply _mortifying_. He wondered how on Earth he could get off the hook. He wasn't sure how much more of Hector's _concern_ he could take. In a way, it was nice to have someone know-he felt less like he could explode with the pressure of the secret. But _Hector_, of all people. He'd rather _Timms_ knew. Well, not Timms. Timms would tell _everyone_…the thought made Scripps shudder. But he'd rather have almost anyone else know rather than Hector. Shit, maybe he'd even rather-

"Well, _that_ was weird."

Scripps spun around to see Dakin, carelessly handsome, folder and textbook tucked under his arm.

"What the fuck was that about?" he was saying, making his way towards Scripps, an expression of bewilderment and amusement spreading neatly across his face. Scripps' heart began to race, as if he had just been ushered onto stage. It hammered uncomfortably-Scripps could feel the colour spreading to his cheeks.

"Oh, hey, Dakin." Scripps folded his arms, trying to appear cool. "Yeah, it was weird, wasn't it?" he rushed. "No idea what goes on in that man's head sometimes…"

"No." Dakin grinned suspiciously, leaning against the wall beside him. "_If you need to talk at all_…Have you and the big man been having cosy chats about your _problems_?" he spluttered.

"No!" Scripps said, far too quickly. Dakin snickered, a corner of his mouth twitching.

"You have! Oh my God, what the fuck are you talking to _Hector _about?" Dakin stepped closer, eyes glistening. "Not how frustrating it is not being able to have a _wank_?"

"Oh, ha ha, _clearly_…" Scripps drawled sarcastically, trying to turn it into a joke. He felt increasingly trapped, as if the walls were closing in on him.

"Did you two make some deep, personal connection while he groped your balls at fifty miles an hour?" Dakin was laughing openly now, looking at Scripps as if he was a freak. "What the _fuck_?"

"Shut up, Dakin," Scripps attempted a new tactic with a heavy overtone of desperation. "I have to get to Mrs Dyer's classroom-I can't be late for her-" He began to try and walk away.

"Hold on a second." Dakin stepped in front of him, blocking the path. He frowned, thick, dark eyebrows knitting together. "_Like patience on a monument, smiling at grief_…" Suddenly, Dakin gasped, hands flying to his mouth. "You_ cannot_ be talking to Mr Hector-_Mr Hector_-about your fucking _love life_?"

Scripps's heart raced even faster, thumping uncontrollably as if in danger of breaking down. "_No_! Of course not!" he said quickly-but he knew his face was giving him away. He had never felt more claustrophobic and exposed in his life.

"_Oh my fucking God_!" Dakin reeled backwards, eyes wide, hands still clasped to his mouth which muffled his voice ominously. "You actually are. You actually fucking _are_!"

Scripps swallowed the rage that was building inside of him. He felt boiling hot. "Fuck off, Dakin," he tried, pathetically. "Of course I'm not-"

"What are you asking him about?" Dakin continued, giggling like a madman. "The birds and the bees? As if Mr Hector would know the first thing about women-I don't care if he's married! Unless-" Suddenly, Dakin became still. "It's not a _boy _is it? _That's_ not why you've gone to Hector, is it?"

Scripps said nothing-but he knew his face read like a book. "I have to go," he mumbled, trying to walk away again. "I have to get to-"

"_Fucking hell_!" Dakin clapped his hands, looking cruelly delighted, eyes round and shining nastily. "_Fucking hell_!"

"Leave me alone." Scripps muttered, finally managing to walk past him. He set off at an alarming pace along the corridor, wanting to put as much distance between him and Dakin as possible. His heart pounded against his shirt, as if he had just ran a marathon. Suddenly, he was burning up all over his body.

"It's not _me_, is it?" Dakin shouted after him. "Don't think I can deal with _another_ little fan in History!"

"_No_, Dakin, it's definitely not you." Scripps found his voice, which echoed across the hall.

"Who _is_ it, then? Who the fuck_ is_ it?" Dakin yelled-but Scripps had already turned the corner.


End file.
